


Wildness

by endgirl



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endgirl/pseuds/endgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cara never expected how it would change her.</p><p><i>This story begins as a loose AU of the end of Season 2 and then veers away from canon.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Also at <http://tequilajuju.livejournal.com>, and updated more quickly there.

Cara slashes through branches with the Agiel in her left hand, unwary of by-standing wildlife or the trackers who might follow such a casual trail. It’s been a day and a half since she parted ways with the Seeker’s merry band of idiots, and she has to get back to camp to make sure they made it through so many hours without her. It is not because she misses Kahlan. At all.

After she and the Mother Confessor were locked in the crypt together, Cara had sensed a shift in their tenuous relationship. She did not intend to examine it closely, but then Kahlan kissed her.

The Confessor’s lips had found hers while she sat on a stump outside camp, scrubbing viciously at the dirt and dried blood that caked her hands. She was sweaty, filthy, and covered in the stink of recent killing. Kahlan had knelt in front of her and pressed her body to Cara’s before she could block the threat. Rahl help her, where had all her instincts gone?

Kahlan’s mouth was soft, too soft, and perfect. And while it moved against Cara’s, all Cara could think was that Kahlan smelled just like she’d expected, like fresh grass and, impossibly, bath oils. Not that Cara had ever imagined this before.

Kahlan’s tongue darted out to taste the Mord-Sith, and Cara let her have a moment of exploration before she pushed into Kahlan’s mouth.

When Kahlan pulled away, lips parted, she looked up at Cara with bright eyes and a small, crooked smile.

“Sorry. I was delirious from the lack of air,” Kahlan had said. And then she turned and walked away.

Cara’s heart grew two sizes that day, and so she stamped it down with all her might until it fit back into the small space allotted for that particular Mord-Sith organ.

\--

When Cara comes within a league of Lord Rahl’s camp, her pace slows. She gives up carving a path through the bushes and lets her Agiel swing naturally with her arm. After Kahlan confessed Tyra, the Sister of the Dark, Cara had convinced the others to let her investigate the Mord-Sith temple at Jandrilyn before the whole lot of them traipsed into what was most certainly a trap. Since abandoning her Sisters and joining the Seeker, Cara had forfeited all the privileges she once enjoyed, the ones that would have allowed her to strut into the temple and demand to know what was going on. But she did have one distinct advantage over Richard, Kahlan, and Zedd: if _she_ was caught lurking around Jandrilyn, at least her death wouldn’t be of any consequence.

As it happened, Cara was not caught. She’d left the temple at dawn with what little information she had gathered. In the first hours of her walk, Cara’s mind sorted facts and reviewed potential scenarios, formulating the best strategy to recover the Scroll of Valdaire. But as midday becomes afternoon, and her reunion with the others turns imminent, Cara finds herself losing focus.

After the kiss, Cara had not opened her mouth around Kahlan unless it was to discuss their strategy for finding the Stone of Tears. She looked away when Kahlan tried to catch her eye over the fire and volunteered to take several side trips with Zedd. The wizard rivalled Darken Rahl in his ability to make Cara want to slam her head into a rusty spike -- but still, she tolerated him, if it meant she could avoid the Confessor.

Cara knew what would happen if Kahlan caught her alone again. She would corner her and bat her eyelashes and spew emotions like a seasick gar. And then -- _then_ \-- Kahlan would expect Cara to respond with the same sort of nonsense. And while Cara was aware she was changing, conscious that little sparks of feelings had taken up residence in her soul, she would not sink so low as to talk about them. She certainly would not discuss them with the Mother Confessor, spectacular kiss or no.

But Cara had been wrong. When Kahlan finally did find the Mord-Sith alone, she didn’t speak at all. She placed her hands on Cara’s waist and looked at her in a way that made Cara feel see-through and shaky. When Cara didn’t back away, Kahlan stepped in and pressed her lips to the other woman’s neck. She let her head linger there against Cara’s shoulder, and Cara clenched her gloved hands in the back of Kahlan’s dress until she could feel her own pulse in her fingertips.

That was almost two weeks ago, and Cara can still feel the heat of the Mother Confessor on her palms.

The closer she gets to the others the more difficult it is to keep her thoughts from Kahlan, and the faster her heart beats. Foolishly, she wishes she had taken the long way around the river to the east. Who is this woman, this _Confessor_ , to think she can force her way into Cara’s mind whenever she pleases? Cara frowns and stabs an Agiel at a wayward dragonfly. The pain in her bones and the musk of scorched insect are small consolations

As Cara makes her way off the narrow path and into the denser part of the forest, she forces her senses into submission. There is no lack of danger, and the Lord Rahl will not be happy if his only Mord-Sith is picked off on an afternoon walk because she can’t banish a woman from her thoughts. He’ll likely be even less pleased when he discovers the woman in question is his de facto betrothed.

Cara tries to employ caution, watchful for any movement other than the rustle of rabbits that dart away at her approach. She considers shooting one for the satisfaction of watching it fall over and die. But what would Kahlan say? She keeps moving.

When she reaches the hill that Richard selected as their temporary home base, Cara feels relief. She can see a small column of smoke above the trees, where she knows Zedd is cooking his second or third lunch. She hears Kahlan’s laughter, so light that Cara almost smiles. Until she remembers she is Mord-Sith. In any case, her friends are not dead.

Cara readjusts the pack on her back and makes a noisy approach to avoid meeting the business end of a dagger. Richard must hear, because all of a sudden he is bounding down the slope with a grin on his face.

“Cara!”

“Lord Rahl,” Cara says. She purses her lips and inclines her head slightly.

“We were just starting to get worried about you. Especially Kahlan.” Richard’s smile falters for a moment, but then he claps Cara on the back and misses the murderous glare she pins on him. He runs back up the hill at full speed, and Cara doesn’t even try to resist rolling her eyes.

“I see someone has been antsy since I’ve been gone,” Cara says when she reaches the concealed little grove they have settled. Tyra, the confessed Sister of the Dark, is crouched off to one side of the camp, looking like she’s just been rebuked by her mistress.

“Cara.” Kahlan stands and gives the Mord-Sith a bright smile, the one that makes Cara’s face hot and her breath short. “We’re glad you’re back.”

Cara grunts and drops her pack by the fire. She takes one of the strips of deer meat that Zedd has been roasting and tears off a savage bite. If she’s chewing, at least she won’t have to talk.

\--

After the last waves of light on the horizon give way to a half moon, Richard says he will take the first watch so Cara can recover from her journey. She responds by sucking her teeth and shoving him toward his bedroll. Hard.

“ _Good night_ , Lord Rahl,” Cara growls. She swears she can hear Kahlan chuckle on the other side of the fire. Cara rests her hand on her Agiel so she won’t turn toward the sound. She glares at Richard until his grumbles turn into deep breaths, and then she stalks a few dozen paces into the forest to keep watch.

Cara leans against a jagged boulder that sits in the path any enemies would have to take up the hill. Her posture is relaxed, almost lazy. Only her hands betray her agitation, clenching and unclenching at her sides. It’s been almost two weeks since she has tasted battle, and her muscles itch to feel the rush.

Watching the Mord-Sith temple, Cara had felt the dark exhilaration she’d been missing in the last weeks with the Seeker. She could hear the screams inside. When she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the blood, almost feel the air vibrate with the strike of each Agiel. There was a certain artistry in the precise and deadly strokes of her Sisters. Movements Cara used to know intimately.

As she crouched in the trees, examining weak spots in the temple’s defense and counting Mord-Sith who appeared in the windows, Cara had felt a thrum of pleasure at each distant scream, and then a stirring emptiness. For she was no longer part of those rituals, no longer privy to the blind devotion that allowed her Sisters to torture and terrorize in the name of Darken Rahl.

Instead, Cara tries to learn about _feelings._ She practices saying words with _compassion_ and exercises _restraint_. And all of this would be unbearable, if not for the brief suspensions of conduct when she is allowed to slam skulls together, twist her Agiels over the dead flesh of banelings, and turn dacras on ridiculously dressed witches.

Violence is what Cara was trained for, and performing for Richard has proven nearly as satisfying as it was to do it for his brother. Sometimes, when she is very tired, or when Kahlan offers a smile instead of another infuriating speech about _being nice_ , Cara thinks it might even be a little bit better.

Still, two weeks without bloodshed is too long for a Mord-Sith, and Cara almost wishes someone would come up the hill and attack just so she can stretch her limbs. But when she finally does hear a footstep, it’s coming from the wrong direction.

Judging by the relative quietness of the approach, Cara eliminates both Zedd and Richard as potential visitors.

In this moment, Cara realizes that she knew Kahlan would rise from her bedroll and creep through the trees to this clearing. She had not entertained the idea until now, but as soon as the thought materializes, it becomes a solid and certain thing in her hands. She knew Kahlan would come.

A little part of Cara thrills at the Confessor’s approach, while the rest of her insides beat that part bloody.

Kahlan comes to lean against the rock on Cara’s left and stares out into the forest. Cara braces herself for the onslaught of warm, fuzzy words, but Kahlan says nothing.

Cara shifts her weight from one foot to the other, but it is not the offhanded gesture she intended. Grass and twigs crunch noisily, and she knows she has given herself away. As much as Cara regularly pleads for Kahlan to just shut up, the truth is the Confessor’s silence makes her uneasy.

Kahlan, bless her, at least appears not to notice Cara’s shifting. She rests one elbow atop the dry red leaves that have accumulated in the lap of the boulder and uses her other arm to brush the hair back from her shoulders. Out of the corner of her eye, Cara can see the way Kahlan tilts her pale neck, like she has no idea how it makes Cara want to jump out of her skin.

Cara grinds her teeth and clutches her Agiels in a desperate effort to control her body where she cannot master her heart. It takes all of her considerable willpower not to push away from the rock and flee. Or kill something.

Everything about this is excruciating. Kahlan’s unaffected silence; the way Cara’s heart beats too hard and too fast; the heat between her legs; her inexplicable urge to grip the Confessor’s hand. And, most of all, the complete and endless disgrace that would befall her should she ever reveal these miseries to another human soul.

Kahlan picks this unhappy moment to let her hand drift across the space between them and rest around Cara’s wrist. She strokes once with her thumb, and then tugs. There is no good reason Cara can think of that she should let Kahlan pull her hand away from her Agiel. But she does.

Kahlan Amnell, star-crossed lover of the Lord Rahl, slides her hand into Cara’s, palms together and thumbs overlapping. She lets their hands rest against the moss on the rock between their thighs.

“Are you alright? I was worried about you.”

Ah, here it is. The feelings. Cara’s equilibrium returns, if only by a fraction. This torture, at least, is familiar territory.

“You think I cannot handle myself?”

“Cara, that’s not what I meant.” _And you know it_ , her expression seems to say. “I know you are more than capable of handling a few Mord-Sith. But still, it must have been difficult, being--”

“You have no concept of difficult, Confessor,” Cara says.

“Oh?” Kahlan raises an eyebrow when she turns to face Cara, and there is amusement in her eyes. Cara opens her mouth to speak and realizes she has been backed into a corner. Capitulate to the Confessor -- concede that Kahlan is her peer in strength, that she has also known suffering. Or argue the point by insisting that her own trials have been worse, and thus admit that she has endured unspeakable atrocities as a Mord-Sith. Admit that being at Jandrilyn affected her.

She answers Kahlan with only a glare. The Confessor breathes out, not quite a sigh, and releases Cara’s hand.

“Cara.” It’s a plea.

“What do you want from me, Kahlan?” Cara keeps her gaze steady and her tone clipped.

“I want to know why I feel like this,” Kahlan says.

Cara’s heart nearly stops. “Like what?”

“Like I can’t breathe. Like I’m just going to burst. Why is this happening?”

“Perhaps you should consult Lord Rahl. He seems to be quite an expert on damsels in distress.” Cara folds her arms over her chest. When Kahlan hears Richard’s name, she turns away.

“This isn’t about Richard,” she whispers. “I’ve never felt this way around Richard.”

With every word out of the Confessor, Cara feels her control slip and the feelings rise like bile in her stomach. She digs her fingertips into her upper arms and forces herself to recall the look that comes over Kahlan’s face each time the Seeker’s life is endangered. She closes her eyes so she can replay that look over and over, and remember who it is for. When Cara feels anger bubble at the surface of her emotions, she dives in.

“Cara, please,” Kahlan says. Cara’s eyes fly open.

“If I wanted you to beg, I would have said so,” Cara snaps. She smiles now, but there is no humor in her face. Kahlan stiffens, and Cara feels an icy satisfaction in her stomach. She has not lost her touch after all.

Kahlan raises her chin. Cara recognizes the moment when she locks her jaw to keep it from trembling.

“Cara, this is new for me too.”

“You mean don’t always throw yourself mercilessly at your traveling companions?” Cara cocks her head to the side. “Oh, wait.” She licks her lips. “You do.”

As she sees Kahlan’s expression crumble, Cara is aware of a sensation, a feeling. She thinks of what Richard might call it. Guilt? But Cara cannot afford guilt, nor any other opening that will expose more of this ridiculous weakness. She is Mord-Sith, and if she hurts a Confessor, even this one -- then good.

Kahlan watches Cara for a moment, as if she has made an unpleasant decision and is now ready to sit back and assess the fallout. She takes a deep breath, and presses her features back into a semblance of composure.

“I care about you, Cara. And I can read you better than you think.”

Cara struggles not to narrow her eyes. It would only betray how off-balance she feels, how desperate she is take whatever Kahlan offers.

Kahlan folds her arms against her chest. “I think, maybe -- maybe you care about me a little bit, too.”

“I have done nothing to give you this impression,” Cara says flatly. “I thought Confessors were supposed to be intelligent.”

Cara has a plan for what comes next. She will spin on her heel, walk back to camp, and kick Zedd until he gets up to take his watch. She will never speak to the Confessor again.

But then, in a split-second of uncertainty -- in a moment that would have killed her, were this battle -- Cara dooms herself and glances up into Kahlan’s eyes. She can see the hurt there, and  the wetness. She knows this pain is one she has inflicted. But instead of pleasure, Cara feels only a prickling shame and the sudden, panicked sensation of losing one’s breath.

Before she can stop it, a tiny, disloyal crack is punched into the walls that contain her heart.

Cara’s hand, moving without permission, reaches up to Kahlan’s face. It hovers over the Confessor’s cheek, too far to comfort and too close to strike. Kahlan tilts her skin into the red leather fingers.

Though Cara has died many excruciating deaths, not one has prepared her for this agony. She has never known betrayal as acute as the one being perpetrated by her own soul. Because despite her training, despite her Sisters, despite the way she pulled a blade across Dennee Amnell’s throat and liked it, all Cara wants is to hold the Mother Confessor’s perfect face in her hands and put the smile back on her lips.

It is this realization that shows Cara, for the first time, what it is like to break outside of a Mord-Sith temple.

As the Confessor’s skin heats her hand, Cara is suddenly, painfully unable to look at any more of the tears she has caused. So she won’t have to see them, Cara seizes Kahlan by her upper arms and crushes their lips together. She can still smell it, though, the salty water on Kahlan’s cheeks. Cara tangles one hand into dark hair and holds on tight as the Confessor lets Cara into her mouth. When she pulls against Kahlan’s scalp, a muffled moan fills the clearing.

Kahlan responds to each of Cara’s movements with passion and the raw thrill of inexperience. Cara feels Kahlan back up, pulling Cara with her until she’s sandwiched between the Mord-Sith and a wide pine trunk. Cara releases Kahlan’s hair and drops her hands to the dark material of her dress. The leather is as soft and warm as she remembers. She does not allow herself to remember anything else -- like the many reasons why, that first time, she eventually let go of the dress and pushed the Confessor away.

This time, Cara holds on tight to Kahlan’s waist as she lowers her mouth to the freckles smattered along her collarbone. Kahlan sucks in a breath and grips the back of Cara’s head. When Cara slides her knee between Kahlan’s legs and presses forward, the hands in Cara’s hair clench. The harder she presses, the harder Kahlan pulls, and the wider Cara grins against the smooth skin of the Confessor’s face.

Slowly, she loosens Kahlan’s dress. When Cara leans back so she can guide the top of the material down over the Confessor’s shoulders, Kahlan pushes their lips together again and slides her tongue along Cara’s. She falls back against the tree again, gasping, and Cara looks into Kahlan’s face for the first time. Her eyes, she finds, have dried. The hurt in them is now accompanied by frantic hunger, and something softer that Cara never expected to see directed at her.

She stares straight at Kahlan, though she fears the Mother Confessor can see the feelings that burn behind her eyes. For the first time since Stowcroft, she finds the experience not entirely unbearable. Cara’s hands are light as she inches the sleeves down Kahlan’s arms.

“Cara.” Kahlan looks like she is about to stomp her foot in impatience.

Cara smirks and stops the movement of her hands and the dress. She raises an eyebrow at Kahlan. A challenge.

“ _Cara_ ,” Kahlan says again, breathless, and tries to wriggle the dress down her arms.

Cara springs forward, pinning Kahlan to the tree with her body. She holds the Confessor’s wrists at her sides, pressing skin against rough bark. Her thigh holds Kahlan’s legs apart and her mouth hovers just over Kahlan’s ear.

“Quiet,” Cara breathes. Kahlan trembles against her leg.

“I will remove your dress as quickly or as slowly as I like.” Her voice is low and hoarse against Kahlan’s ear. “Do you understand?”

The Mord-Sith feels Kahlan swallow. “Yes, Cara,” she whispers.

She presses a wet kiss to Kahlan’s temple. “Good girl.”

Cara steps back and releases the other woman’s wrists. But Kahlan’s deference and the heat Cara felt when she pressed against the Confessor’s center have all but destroyed her self-control. This time when she takes Kahlan’s dress in her hands, she yanks until the fabric and leather fall in a heap at the base of the tree.

She leans away from Kahlan to admire her work. Despite the dim moonlight, her breath catches. Kahlan is more beautiful than Cara has even imagined, and her body tightens as she takes in the delicious roundness of the Confessor’s breasts, the lean muscles, the dark hair that disappears between her legs. Even as she hurtles headlong through this experience, desperate and out of control, Cara recognizes this is a sight she’s unlikely to ever be granted again. She vows to enjoy it while she can.

Kahlan, to her credit, holds her chin up -- regal as ever under Cara’s scrutiny, though her chest takes on a pinkish flush. Cara watches as she shifts her weight from side to side in tiny movements, and it occurs to the Mord-Sith that even in her boots and weapons, this may be the most bared Kahlan has ever been in front of another. The real Kahlan, that is. _Her Kahlan_ , murmurs a voice deep inside of Cara.

Instead of the amusement she would normally feel in the face of such innocence, Cara feels only a pulsing need in her groin. She will be the first to touch Kahlan in all the places that have only known the Confessor’s own hands. She will be the first to hear the way Kahlan cries out when she can’t take any more and she falls, careening, over the edge. And while Cara bathes in these split-second fantasies, she does not allow her mind to stray to the enormity of what she is doing.

Kahlan holds out one hand, an invitation. Cara allows it to float there, between them, as she slowly removes one glove and then the other. Finally, her eyes lock on Kahlan’s and she takes the offered hand. Instead of stepping forward, she pulls Kahlan toward her and catches her in a fierce kiss.

Kahlan reaches for the ties at the back of the Mord-Sith uniform, but Cara knocks her hand away. She pushes Kahlan toward the ground and moves with her until they are both kneeling in the grass. She presses Kahlan onto her back, and, in an unfamiliar lurch of concern, she hopes there are no rocks.

Kahlan doesn’t seem to notice the ground at all, and her movements are frenzied as she reaches up to run her fingers over leather-covered muscles. She grasps at Cara’s waist, pressing their hips together. The leather there is warmer than Kahlan expected, and she gasps as it makes contact with her lower body. Cara grinds into her once before she sits back on her knees and straddles the Confessor, careful to angle her Agiels away from Kahlan. She leans down, rests her weight on one elbow, and moves in to taste the skin she has salivated over for months.

She runs her tongue along the underside of Kahlan’s breast, and as she drifts slowly closer to her nipple, Kahlan’s breath comes in short gasps. When she finally reaches it and pulls the peak into her mouth, it’s already hard. Kahlan moans out loud and jerks her hips, and Cara can feel smooth wetness pooling in her leathers.

Before she can check the urge, Cara follows a swipe of her tongue with the sharp pressure of her teeth. Kahlan yelps and wraps her hands in Cara’s hair. To Cara’s immense surprise, though, Kahlan holds her head closer instead of tearing it away. Her grip tightens at each little shock of pain, but she arches into Cara’s mouth.

Cara does not hide her wicked smile as she releases Kahlan’s breast and moves down her body. She looks up at the Mother Confessor, who stares back through dark lashes. Cara keeps their eyes locked as she snakes one hand across Kahlan’s stomach and through the curls at the juncture of her legs. She slides the tip of one finger against delicate skin and feels how wet Kahlan has become.  As she moves her fingertip through the slickness, Kahlan’s eyes flutter.

“No. Keep your eyes open. I want to see you.” Cara means it as a command, but her voice shakes almost as much as Kahlan’s trembling thighs.

Kahlan’s gaze snaps back to Cara, and in the instant their eyes meet Cara pushes two fingers inside her. Kahlan cries out, but she does not look away.

Cara sets a slow rhythm, pushing deeper into Kahlan’s body with every thrust. The Confessor lifts her hips to meet Cara and moans each time the heel of the hand meets her flesh. When Kahlan’s breath quickens and her movements become more erratic, Cara moves her other hand and presses her thumb in a wet circle around Kahlan’s clit every time her fingers slide in.

“Harder, please,” Kahlan breathes as her hips rise into Cara’s touch.

Cara has never received a better order. She leans closer to Kahlan’s body to give her thrusts more power, and she moves her hand faster and faster until Kahlan’s moans become a series of cries muffled against her forearm, and Cara sees her blue eyes swirl with black.

“Stop, now, stop.” Kahlan clutches at Cara’s shoulders.

Cara does not stop.

“Cara! Please, you have to--”

The Mord-Sith presses down hard on Kahlan’s clit, her hand still moving inside the Confessor. She watches Kahlan’s shoulders come up off the grass, as every muscle in her body seems to contract. Right before the black reaches the edge of Kahlan’s irises, Cara circles her clit once more and scrambles backwards.

Kahlan screams into the crook of her arm as the magic explodes around her body. Pine needles cascade to the ground, and a moment passes when Cara thinks her teeth will never stop chattering. But then the magic dissipates, leaving only the sound of the women’s heavy breathing.

Cara knows she should get up now, hand Kahlan her dress, and send her back to camp. Instead, she crawls back to where the Confessor is sprawled in the grass and falls onto her back a few inches away, one arm folded beneath her head.

She tilts her neck and stares up into the stars. As she listens to Kahlan’s breathing return to normal, she feels the familiar pressure twist again in her chest. She had convinced herself, in the sporadic moments of clarity, that lying with Kahlan would bring some release. Now, as she rests on the ground and holds her body tense, she knows it has only added more tinder to the fire building inside her.

The desperation that led her to take Kahlan has not receded, despite her indulgence in the Mother Confessor’s flesh. If anything, it drums more insistently than ever -- in her heart and between her legs. She has so many feelings now, so many glorious and appalling emotions that threaten to break down the barriers inside of her. For the first time, she feels a tiny thrum of warmth alongside her terror.

Cara hears a rustle as Kahlan rolls over, though she is still startled when the Mother Confessor tucks her head into Cara’s shoulder. As Kahlan’s hand rests on her stomach, she is surprised to feel a few of her most painfully tight muscles begin to relax.

“That was dangerous, Cara. I could have confessed you.” Kahlan’s tone sounds appalled, but her husky voice ruins the effect.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would not have let that happen,” Cara says.

“It could have! I wouldn’t have been able to stop it!” Kahlan pushes up slightly, dark hair tumbling over her bare shoulders. Cara can see in her eyes that she is beginning to panic.

Cara reaches up around Kahlan and pulls her back down to her shoulder.

“Hush.” Cara’s voice is rough, but not unkind. “I would not allow you to hurt me, Kahlan.”

A long silence stretches out, until Kahlan finally nestles closer.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” Kahlan says. “For me to... you know.”

Cara smirks and rolls her eyes. “If you think _that_ was creative....” Kahlan half laughs and half groans as she turns her blushing face into Cara’s hair.

After a moment, Kahlan presses her lips against the side of Cara’s mouth. She moves the hand resting on Cara’s stomach slowly over the red leather.

“Can I touch you?” As Kahlan’s breath warms her ear, Cara feels fingertips ghost over the underside of her breast.

Cara catches Kahlan’s wrist lighting-fast, but she does not pull it away. Though she can feel the aching wetness between her legs, she holds Kahlan’s hand firmly in place on her chest, just above her heart.

“No.” Cara does not plan to say more, but she feels a sudden urge to appease the woman next to her. “It’s late,” she continues. “You need to get back to camp, and I will finish my watch.”

Kahlan sighs, but she does not seem surprised. She flattens her palm against the bare skin that peeks out above Cara’s neckline, but she allows her wrist to remain captive. They lie like that for some time, pressed together in the grass. And though she thinks of many, Cara doesn’t make a single snide comment about snuggling.

When the night sky reaches its darkest point, Cara releases Kahlan’s hand and pulls away. She stands on legs a hundred times more steady than she feels, and with her back to the Confessor, sits down on the boulder where Kahlan first found her.

She hears the sound of boots on dry leaves moving behind her. She listens as Kahlan walks toward the big pine. She knows when Kahlan’s hands grasp the fabric and leather of her dress, and she resists the painful desire to turn and look at Kahlan’s stunning, naked body one last time. Eventually, Cara hears the movement stop and senses that Kahlan is staring, waiting for her to turn around.

Cara holds her breath and does not move. She feels lightheaded when Kahlan finally starts walking back into the trees. Abruptly, and with peculiar anxiety, Cara wishes she had turned around after all. She does not want Kahlan to go, and a thousand things to say stampede through her mind, each more bewildering than the last.

“Kahlan!”

She hears the other woman whirl around at the edge of the clearing, startled by her outburst. Cara turns her head to the side and opens her mouth, but she does not know the words for all she has to say. She can see Kahlan out of the corner of her eye, but she stares only straight ahead. Whole minutes pass before she can make her tongue work.

“You were right.” Cara says, scratchy and low. “I do care about you, too. A little.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“So you don’t think there will be any trouble, then, at the temple?” Richard asks. It is the third time he has posed almost the same question, and Cara is beginning to wish she’d just stayed out in the woods all night. Or forever.

“No, Richard, I did not say there would be no trouble. I’m only telling you their defenses are minimal,” she says, and bites into her second dried biscuit. She does not look at Kahlan, who is perched on the edge of her bedroll, knees pulled up to her chest.

“But that doesn’t add up. If Rahl is taking the scroll there, he would have it under heavy guard.” Richard furrows his brows, breakfast forgotten on the ground beside him. “I know! Maybe there’s another place to the northwest, beyond the temple.” His voice begins to rise. “Maybe he’s not planning to bring the Scroll of Valdaire to Jandrilyn at all. Maybe it’s just a diversion.”

Cara gives a long-suffering sigh, and leans back against the log behind her. 

“Jandrilyn is the only suitable location in the direction that Tyra gave us after she was confessed. Wizard, please inform the Seeker that we must continue on to the temple as planned, regardless of its questionable security. If anything, we should have left last night,” Cara says, glancing up at the mid-morning sun.

“Well.” Zedd scratches his chin with long, spindly fingers and looks at her across the remains of their fire. “Richard may have a point. Why would Rahl leave the temple defenseless, if he plans to store the scroll there?”

“I would hardly call a stone fortress full of Mord-Sith _defenseless_ ,” Cara says, irritation dripping from her cocky smile. “Besides, this only proves my point. There will be a trap inside.”

“Hmm. Indeed.” Zedd chews on a strip of salted meat, and stares up at a group of clouds like they might hold some additional wisdom. “Kahlan, what do you think?”

There is no response. 

“Kahlan?” the wizard repeats.

Silence.

“Kahlan?” Richard says.

Cara finally forces herself to look at Kahlan. When Cara had returned from the woods the night before to switch guard duty with Zedd, she’d been unable to keep her eyes off the Mother Confessor. She could tell Kahlan wasn’t sleeping, but she faced away from where Cara stood, so Cara had let her gaze linger even as she lay down with her own blanket. Her fingers ached to reach out and touch the body that had so recently been bare to her. But she didn’t. And after they’d woken in the morning, she had not allowed herself to be tempted again.

Now, though, she does look. Kahlan’s eyes are locked on the embers in the fire circle, but seem to see something far away.

“Kahlan!” Richard says again, nudging her shoulder.

Kahlan jolts to life, and her eyes snap to Cara’s first. Slowly, she glances around and seems to realize they are all staring at her, even Tyra. She blushes and clears her throat

“Sorry,” Kahlan says. “I guess I was lost in thought.”

“Must have been an interesting thought,” Richard says with a grin.

Kahlan’s face reddens, and her eyes move instantly toward Cara. Cara feels her stomach clench, and she is both relieved and disappointed when Kahlan stops her gaze at the last moment and turns to the wizard. In short order, she replaces the faraway look on her face with the easy composure of a well-trained Confessor.

“Forgive me, Zedd.” Kahlan stretches her legs out in front of her, and fold her hands in her lap. “I think we should continue to Jandrilyn. Cara is right, the lack of guards outside the temple doesn’t mean Rahl isn’t taking the scroll there. Cara’s already told us that she could tell something unusual was happening inside. Marianna is probably already there with the scroll.”

“That decides it then,” Zedd says, as he stands and brushes off his robes. “If the plan is acceptable to you, of course, Richard.”

The Seeker looks between Kahlan and Cara for a moment, and then shrugs. “Alright. I was only asking.”

“An excellent instinct, my boy.” Zedd pats Richard on the back as the Seeker rises and turns to collect the items strewn around camp. The wizard gives Cara a final look and goes to help Richard.

Cara watches Kahlan rise, too, as she rolls up her blanket. Cara is packed in under thirty seconds, and when she looks up, a hand is stretched out toward her. She discerns that Kahlan is offering to help her up, and she snorts. She stands on her own, and the look of disdain she shoots the Mother Confessor does not stop Kahlan’s small smile. With a start, Cara realizes she has behaved exactly as Kahlan expected. She doesn’t know whether she should laugh or knock this infuriating woman to the ground, so she just clenches her fists and steps away.

\--

They hike for several hours, and Cara is glad she was so careless with her trail the day before. A blind toddler could follow these tracks back to the Mord-Sith temple; for the Seeker, it’s a welcome change from trudging through the woods after invisible footprints. Cara allows herself to feel pleased that she has aided the Lord Rahl. She does not think about what drove her to travel so recklessly through the forest in the first place.

Since the Seeker has been freed from scrutinizing each measure of ground as they travel, he uses his new liberty to talk Kahlan’s ear off while Zedd leads the way. Cara watches as, several paces ahead of her, Richard hooks his arm through Kahlan’s and murmurs something in her ear. Cara cannot hear what it is, nor can she see the look on Kahlan’s face or what she says back.

She can imagine it, though.

 _Oh, Richard! You’re so terribly handsome!_

 _That’s because I’m the Seeker! And Lord Rahl! And a wizard! And--_

 _Richard, let’s make babies right now! If Cara can touch me, so can you!_

Cara huffs and grips one of her Agiels. The pain is not enough to distract her from the scene in front of her, so she also kicks viciously at a thick root in her path. It splinters.

For a moment, Cara watches as her own narration of Richard and Kahlan’s conversation seems to come to life. Richard pulls Kahlan off the trail to the right, and the smile on his face is almost lewd. But then Kahlan tugs her arm away, and her body language is all wrong. Cara cocks her head slightly. Kahlan is angry, of all things.

Richard looks at the Confessor with a mixture of confusion and longing, and then shakes his head and lengthens his stride. As he catches up with Zedd and Tyra, Cara’s steady pace brings her to Kahlan’s side. The Mother Confessor’s arms are folded tightly, and she stares at the ground.

“Trouble in paradise?” Cara says, and she is dismayed to find her voice is not quite as cruel as when she’d imagined saying it.

Kahlan looks at Cara for a long time as they walk, well past the moment when a lesser person would have started to squirm. Cara feels like she’s being measured up.

“Cara, things have not been right with Richard and me for some time,” Kahlan finally says, quiet enough to keep her voice from reaching Zedd and the Seeker.

Cara snorts and rolls her eyes. Was Kahlan referring to how _not right_ things had been when she and Richard had nuzzled together for hours after Nicci’s little body-switch trick? Or perhaps how _not right_ they’d been when Kahlan had launched herself at Richard’s lips when he rescued them from the tomb?

“It’s true.” Kahlan sighs. There is pain in her voice. “Richard and I--”

“Mother Confessor,” Cara cuts her off harshly, “I’ve been with the two of you for months. I know exactly how things are. I do not require a review.” Immediately, she knows she has said too much. Protested too vehemently. She digs her fingers into the leather of her Agiel and breathes in the pain, willing it up her arm.

“Wizard’s First Rule, Cara."

“What?” Cara snaps, though she did not mean to answer.

“Wizard’s First Rule.” Kahlan pauses and looks at the Mord-Sith. “People believe something because they want it to be true. Or because they are afraid it might be.”

Before she can tell the Confessor exactly where she can stuff her rules, Cara hears a commotion ahead and sees Richard and Zedd stop short. She’s at Lord Rahl’s side in an instant. When she sees what made him halt, her stomach flips.

Darken Rahl.

Her second Agiel is in her hand before she can think to pull it. Cara moves in front of Richard as the Seeker pulls his sword, and she feels a secret gratitude that standing by her Lord Rahl is the same as placing herself between Kahlan and the threat.

As she advances on Darken Rahl, Agiels screaming, Cara realizes something is off. There’s a servant girl standing next to him, but she does not look recently maimed.

“Rahl!” Richard growls. He stands shoulder to shoulder with Cara and presses the tip of his sword to Rahl’s throat.

“No, no, I’m not him! I swear I’m not!” Darken Rahl throws his hands up. “I’m just the sod who looks like him!”

The servant girl says something too, but Cara’s wide eyes do not stray from her former master. She takes in his sniveling face and the way he holds himself, and her shoulders relax. Darken Rahl might have been a legendary liar, but he was never this good.

“I can’t be him, see? I’m not a spirit,” the impostor says and holds out his shaking hand. “Go ahead, touch me.”

“Nobody needs to touch you. It’s obvious you’re not Rahl,” Cara says in a bored voice. She hopes it will cover the involuntary disgust she feels at the idea of touching him, even if he is an impostor.

Zedd and Kahlan, daggers out, step up then, and Cara falls back slightly, still wary. Faster than she can scratch her nose, the Seeker agrees to help the unfortunate Rahl lookalike, Walter. Typical. Cara crosses her arms and prepares to object, but the sound of galloping horses whips her head around.

Four D’Harans appear out of the trees and leap from their mounts. They charge with blades drawn, but they’re hardly fast enough. Cara, Kahlan, and the confessed Sister of the Dark each take down a soldier, and Richard puts his sword in the fourth before any can land blows of their own. The whole fight is over in fifteen seconds, and it does little to sate Cara’s hunger for battle.

Cara hears a squeak behind her and turns to find Walter hunched over and holding a stubby branch. She rolls her eyes and feels almost ashamed that she ever thought he could be Darken Rahl.

“Thank you for saving us,” Walter says. “We’ll just be on our way now, we don’t want to be any more trouble.”

This is the best plan Cara has heard all day, apart from her own, and she’s about to say so when the look on Zedd’s face makes her pause. He holds up one finger and Cara tries not to scowl.

“Wait. Think about it. Darken Rahl keeps a look-alike alive in his castle and summons a Sister of the Dark to assist the Mord-Sith. He has all the magical ingredients he needs to return to the land of the living in this man’s body.” The wizard stares at Cara, Kahlan, and Richard in turn, daring each of them to find fault in his assumption. No one speaks.

Cara glances at Kahlan, only to find her already staring. Kahlan frowns, and Cara shakes off the uncomfortable feeling that the other woman might be worried about her.

Richard looks Walter up and down, his sword is still pointed at the fake Rahl. “Fine. We’ll storm the temple, get the scroll, and then we’ll decide what to do with them.”

Cara knows exactly what they should do with them, Walter and his slave girl. She should slit their throats, preferably before they take another step. She would also consider skinning Walter, or maybe removing his dead limbs -- just in case. Unfortunately, she has been traveling with the Seeker long enough to know just how welcome this suggestion would be. So when Cara hears Zedd ignite one of the attackers’ bodies with wizard’s fire, she keeps quiet and turns to watch the soldier burn.

Suddenly, as Cara stares into the heat, the dead D’Haran is no longer the only form on fire. The flames shimmer and twist with magic until they take on the figure of a man, a man Cara knows. Out of the fire emerges Darken Rahl, a placid smile twisting his face. 

The uneasiness Cara felt when she saw Walter was a gentle tickle compared to the sickening alarm that grips her now. Because she does not need to look twice, or examine his credentials, or ask inane questions to verify his identity. Cara’s bones know; her Agiels know. This is the real Darken Rahl.

As he lunges forward, Richard quakes with frustration at his inability to lash out physically at the spirit-Rahl. Cara watches as he makes a show of telling his brother he won’t succeed in his latest dastardly plan. But Cara already knows -- he will. Zedd was right; Rahl is here to get a new body. To rejoin the living. Every time he looks at her, she wants to vomit. Instead, she tells Rahl he’s out of his mind.

“So, if we help you, you’ll give us the scroll,” Richard says, the picture of skepticism. “Suddenly _you_ want to defeat the Keeper?”

“I want to live again,” Rahl says. “You, of all people, must understand that, brother. I miss the taste of a crisp apple.” He smiles and looks down at Cara. “The warm press of a woman’s flesh against my own.”

Cara can feel Kahlan’s eyes on the side of her face, but her years of training were not for nothing and she does not react to Rahl’s words or the Confessor’s scrutiny.

“So,” Rahl says, turning back to Richard, “do we have an agreement, or don’t we? Put my soul in Walter, and I will hand you the scroll myself. It’s up to you, brother.” He runs his fingers over his bottom lip and down his red velvet coat, and then he evaporates into the flames as quickly as he came.

Cara watches the fire burn for another moment, and then turns to the others. The choice has already been made, and they all know it.

\-- 

“All this trouble, and the instructions are invisible?” Cara keeps her voice deathly calm, but she wants to slap Richard with her open palm, like a child.

As the moon rose, she had knelt down next to Darken Rahl’s new body and breathed life into his lungs. She restored the world’s greatest tryant, restarted the heart of a man whose voice alone makes her want to turn her skin inside out. It had only been a few times, but as she glared down at his body on the ground, all Cara could think about was how he had looked reclining is his chambers, naked and licking his fingertips. Telling her what an honor it was.

And it didn’t even get them the spirit-forsaken scroll.

“They’ll only be invisible until we find one of Kahlan’s tiny friends,” Zedd says, trying to appease her. He turns a blast of wizard’s fire on Tyra’s lifeless body. Cara is glad to be finished with the witch, at least.

“Well, the good news is we know which way we’re headed,” Richard says, frowning, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“And so does Rahl,” Kahlan says. She grips her daggers in both hands, and Cara realizes she has not sheathed them since Walter first appeared. The Confessor looks furious, and deadly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cara says. “There is no alternative.” If only they had let her deal with Walter her way.

“Well, thankfully we have the horses that our D’Haran friends so graciously left behind.” Zedd puts his hands against his stomach. “Perhaps we can find a suitable camp in time for dinner.”


	3. Chapter 3

They ride through the afternoon, Cara’s chestnut gelding at the rear of the caravan. The horses are smooth and sound, though she expected nothing less for such high-ranking soldiers. As the yellowing grass turns to rocky earth and the trees become sparse enough to ride side by side, Kahlan pulls her horse back next to Cara’s.

“Are you alright?” Kahlan says.

Cara raises an eyebrow. “Do you not remember what happened the last time you tried to ask me that question?”

It’s only a matter of finding the right words, the ones that will make Kahlan so uncomfortable that she’ll ride on, back to her Seeker, and leave Cara with what little dignity she has intact. The last thing Cara wants is to hear the Mother Confessor’s gentle concern over Rahl or, worse, her regretful and kind explanation for losing her wits the night before.

Kahlan turns red. “Yes, I remember.”

“So you’re telling me you want to repeat the experience?” Cara says in the voice she has used to taunt hundreds of men, women, and children.

Kahlan keeps her eyes on Cara, even as her horse bounces beneath her. She’s about to say something, but then Richard falls back to ride on Kahlan’s left. The Mother Confessor turns her face forward and lets her expression fall away.

“Kahlan,” Richard says, “are you familiar with the Dunver Pass? Zedd seems to think the bridges we’re heading for have been destroyed. We’ll need to cross the canyon another way.”

Kahlan nods. “I’ve used it once. It’s not the most pleasant place, but we shouldn’t have much trouble. Hardly anything lives in the pass, including animals. We’ll need to pack plenty of supplies.”

“Alright. Tonight we’ll sleep by the canyon and gather as much food and water as we can. First thing in the morning, we set out.”

There’s a formality to Richard’s tone that Cara hasn’t heard him use with Kahlan before. They’re not looking at each other.

“If luck is on our side, we’ll be with the Night Wisps in a few days,” Richard says. He pats his horse on the neck, like knocking on wood.

“Lord Rahl, it will take at least a week just to travel the Dunver Pass,” Cara says, though he has not asked for her opinion. “Plus a half-day to reach the pass from this side of the canyon.”

Richard looks crestfallen. “That can’t be true. We have to get there sooner. Are you sure?”

Cara rolls her eyes. Perhaps if they hadn’t stopped to rescue so many kittens along the way, they wouldn’t be so pressed for time now.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she snaps. She’s not angry at Richard, exactly, but the tension of the last two days churns to the surface nonetheless. “This is D’Hara. I know these lands.”

Richard glares at her across Kahlan. “How could you? I thought they never let you out of your temple.”

Cara knows Richard is drawing on the Seeker’s anger, the rage of the Sword of Truth, and her first instinct is to feed it. Her entire body screams for a fight.

“I’ve seen more of the world as a Mord-Sith than you can even imagine, Seeker,” Cara spits his title like an insult.

“That must have been a nice trip, traveling on your master’s leash.” Richard’s hand rests on the hilt of his sword.

“Actually, it was on my mistress’s.” Cara grins, her eyes wide, and she feels something inside herself come unhinged. As much as she wants to please her Lord Rahl, she also wants the Seeker’s blood. Any blood, really.

“That figures--” Richard says, his voice rising.

“Enough!” Kahlan shouts over him. Cara looks to her, and she sees the Confessor’s placidity has been replaced by outrage.

“But--” Richard’s anger seems to falter in the face of Kahlan’s disapproval.

“But nothing! Don’t ever speak to her like that again!” Kahlan’s hands are gripping her reins so hard they’ve turned white. Cara has never seen her so out of control with the Seeker.

Richard stares at her, stunned, and Cara watches the Mother Confessor fight to regain some of her composure.

“Cara has proven herself to us over and over again,” Kahlan says and takes a long breath. “You can’t attack her just because you don’t like her information, and especially not about being Mord-Sith.” Against her will, Cara feels a flush of satisfaction at the words.

Richard finally pulls his hand away from his sword. His fury is gone, but worse is the disturbed sadness in his eyes as he looks at Kahlan. Cara turns away.

“You’re right,” Richard says softly. “I’m sorry Cara.” He looks at Kahlan for another moment, and then kicks his mare forward, cantering past Zedd and toward the disappearing sun.

The two women ride across the next long stretch of dry earth in silence. Cara feels off-balance. Lately, she hasn’t felt any other way around Kahlan. And since last night in the woods, her already-frayed nerves have become festering wounds of feelings. Cara had thought she would be able to handle the emotional aftermath of taking Kahlan beneath a pine tree -- she hadn’t thought there would _be_ any emotional aftermath of taking Kahlan beneath a pine tree -- but every passing moment seems to twist her heart more viciously than the last.

Cara has the distinct sense that Kahlan is watching her, but each time she flicks her eyes to the left, Kahlan is studying the tops of her horse’s ears. Cara sighs, and they both start to speak at the same time.

“Thank you,” Cara says.

“I’m sorry,” Kahlan says, their words blending together. She smiles shyly, and she tucks a wave of hair behind her ear. Cara looks back to the trail ahead.

“You first,” Kahlan says, but the Mord-Sith shakes her head.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper before, with Richard,” Kahlan says. “I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”

Of course Kahlan shouldn’t have. Cara takes a deep, dragging breath that does not feel like it reaches her lungs. Of course she shouldn’t have. She grips tighter on the reins.

“What were you going to say?”

“Nothing,” Cara replies. She doesn’t look at the woman beside her.

“What is it, Cara?”

There’s something in Kahlan’s uncertainty that slays her. The words are coming before Cara can squelch them, like tiny defectors marching up and out of her mouth.

“I said thank you.” Cara’s voice is tight. “I’ve never...” she grits her teeth and swallows. “People don’t usually defend me like that. It was unnecessary.”

“Oh, Cara,” Kahlan whispers.

Cara’s desire to evaporate -- or kill something -- is instantaneous. But the world remains as cruel as ever; her wish is not granted. Cara is still perfectly, achingly solid when Kahlan reaches out and takes her hand. Kahlan squeezes it in her own.

“In that case,” Kahlan says, “I withdraw my apology.” She releases Cara’s palm. “I’m not sorry at all that I yelled and I’d do it again.”

When Cara looks over, one side of Kahlan’s mouth is pulled up in a small smile. The urge to disappear recedes, just a little bit, though the pressure in her chest is as heavy as ever.

\--

Making camp next to the Ran’Kin Canyon is more like starting a full day’s work than settling in for the night. Zedd declares they will need at least ten rabbits or, preferably, a deer, though he does not offer to help obtain either. Cara knows they’ll be lucky if they find a few mangy hares, never mind a _deer_ , but she keeps her mouth shut. Sharing realistic information with the Seeker & Company rarely wins her any thanks.

After scouring a wide circle around their camp, she and Richard manage to procure four of the most pathetic-looking jack rabbits Cara has ever seen. It’s more than she expected to find in a place that could be charitably described as a desert, or, more accurately, as a barren wasteland of dust. Part of the boundary between D’Hara and the Midlands once ran along the far side of the canyon, and death still lingers in the air. Even before the boundary, Cara doubts much could have survived such a dry landscape.

Kahlan adds several prickly-looking fruits to their haul, along with the last of the dried biscuits and apples she’s been carrying.

When Zedd complains about the meat selection, Cara turns from collecting their water skins and jabs her knife into a skittering brown lizard as it darts by. She holds the jerking, scaly body up under Zedd’s nose.

“This is your alternative, Wizard. I’d be happy to find a few more of these for you, if the rabbits are insufficient.”

Zedd turns pasty and murmurs a “No, thank you.” Cara smirks and returns to her task.

By the time she returns from the closest stream, a weak trickle of water nearly a league off, the moon has been up for hours. Richard has already situated himself outside their camp, sword at the ready, and Kahlan and Zedd lie huddled under blankets on opposite sides of a small fire. The temperature has dropped sharply since the sun set.

Cara rolls out her mat perpendicular to Kahlan and Zedd, her head at the Mother Confessor’s feet. She tries to ignore the sound of Kahlan rustling under her blanket, obviously trying to warm herself. Sleep evades her, though, when she hears the other woman’s teeth start to chatter. The sound strikes right into her gut, though she tries to tell herself she doesn’t care.

She tells herself she doesn’t care as she gets to her knees and pulls her mat around so it touches Kahlan’s. She tells herself she doesn’t care as she moves under Kahlan’s blanket, pulling her own on top. And she tells herself she doesn’t care as she scoots close to the shivering woman. But when her hand finally brushes Kahlan’s waist, the truth beats painful and huge inside Cara’s heart.

She does care.

She cares that Kahlan is cold. It matters to her that Kahlan is uncomfortable and that she might not be able to sleep. She is concerned with Kahlan’s feelings, with how she prefers her breakfast, and with which horse might be her favorite. She cares about Kahlan’s relationship with the Lord Rahl. She cares that she is not allowed to come any closer, because someone might see, and she cares that there is someone here to see in the first place. Cara can’t seem to breathe under the weight of all the caring, and her lungs contract silently until her entire body turns hot and her vision blurs. It feels a little bit like dying, only relief never comes.

\--

When she wakes in the dull morning light, half on Kahlan’s bedroll, Cara is sure she spent the night being trampled by overweight shadrin. Her muscles ache, and she forces each one to relax before she opens her eyes. As she flexes her wrist, she feels the space beside her. It’s cold.

She bolts upright and realizes she and Zedd are alone at the camp. There are no trees in sight, nothing that could conceal something as big as a person, and yet she sees no one else.

“Where’s Kahlan?” Cara demands, frantic. “And Richard,” she rushes to say.

From the way Zedd looks at her, she knows she added the Richard part too late.

“Good morning to you, too,” the wizard says, and Cara is about to launch herself at him, teeth bared, when he speaks again.

“I believe Richard and Kahlan are having a long-overdue conversation,” he says.

“What are you talking about?” she growls, coming to her feet.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, child.” Zedd’s voice is soft, and it makes Cara uneasy. “As much as I would like to shield my grandson from such heartache, neither Richard nor Kahlan deserve the pain they have been feeling.”

Cara’s brow furrows. “What pain? The Seeker and his Confessor are fine.” Something nags at Cara. Something Kahlan said yesterday, but she can’t put her finger on it.

“Ah, yes. That’s exactly right,” Zedd sighs. “The Seeker and his Confessor are a pair for the ages. But Richard and Kahlan -- well, they are altogether another story.” The wizard shakes his head sadly. “Don’t try to tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Cara narrows her eyes at him and says nothing.

“You have to keep in mind, Cara, Wizard’s--”

And then it hits her.

“First Rule,” she finishes.

That’s what Kahlan had said yesterday, when she told Cara that whatever she saw in the Confessor, or sensed in herself, was only a trick of the mind, brought to life because she wanted it to be so. Was it possible that Kahlan had meant something else?

Zedd studies her for several moments. “You don’t deserve this pain either, child.” Cara snorts dismissively, but Zedd keeps talking. “Love is an unpredictable thing, Cara, and a blessing too few truly know. Don’t squander it.”

Zedd’s eyes move from her face to the space above her shoulder, and Cara whirls around to follow his gaze, grateful for a reason to evade the wizard’s outrageous comment. In the distance, she can just make out a figure moving toward them. Cara tracks the movement as the shape changes from a hazy mass to a distinctly human form. Cara’s left hand tightens on her Agiel as Kahlan’s red, splotchy face comes into focus. It’s obvious she has been crying.

The Confessor’s arms are wrapped protectively around her middle as she makes her way into their camp. Alone.

“Richard is going to meet up with us a little ways down the pass,” Kahlan says in a hoarse voice. “He took another trail into the canyon.”

She kneels to roll up her bedding, but Cara is still frozen, staring at the air the Confessor just occupied. It isn’t until Kahlan nudges her foot that she realizes she’s standing on their blankets. The ones she had layered so they could keep each other warm. Cara looks down and sees wet blue eyes angled up at her. She imagines leaning down and taking Kahlan’s face in her hands. Holding dark hair against her legs and kissing the top of Kahlan’s head until the tears are gone. But she hesitates, and then Kahlan mumbles “Excuse me” and Cara steps off the blanket, and the moment has passed.

Neither she nor Zedd question Kahlan’s statement about Richard, though she can see it makes the wizard nervous and she has to press down her own worry for the Lord Rahl’s safety. She half-wishes Zedd would ask Kahlan exactly what happened, and she is thankful when he does not. She isn’t sure what she wants more, to know what passed between the Seeker and Confessor or for Kahlan to stop crying. She is certain she can’t have both. And so she keeps quiet as they pack up their supplies and load the saddlebags.

Before Kahlan climbs onto her horse, Zedd places a hand on the Confessor’s shoulder. When she turns around, he pulls her into a tight hug and whispers against her hair. Cara watches as Kahlan shudders into the wizard’s robes, and then pulls away to face the grey mare she’d ridden the day before.

Cara moves forward; finally, this is something she can do. As Kahlan hooks one foot into a stirrup, Cara steps behind her, grips her legs, and glides her the rest of the way into the saddle. Cara lets her hand linger on Kahlan’s thigh above her dagger as the she takes the reins. When Kahlan looks down at her, eyes shining, Cara squeezes her leg. Kahlan reaches out and tangles her fingers with Cara’s for the briefest of moments, until Cara smacks the horse on the rump and it leaps away, down the trail into the canyon.

Zedd trots after, holding the reins to Richard’s horse. Cara mounts the gelding she has taken as her own and follows the empty saddle.


	4. Chapter 4

The rain starts before the sun has a chance to reach its highest point. They ride through it for hours, as long as they can, until Kahlan’s hair pours rivers down her back and Cara orders them to stop.

“And here I thought this was a desert,” Zedd says pointedly. Cara knows he is recalling the lizard incident and rolls her eyes.

“There’s a rainy season everywhere, Wizard.”

Cara leads her horse under an overhang in the rocky cliff face that rises up on their right. They’ve descended nearly halfway into the canyon, and shelter is scarce. Cara estimates they have another hour’s ride until they reach the entrance to the Dunver Pass itself, but the rain shows no signs of letting up.

“Well, then, aren’t we lucky,” Zedd grumbles, brushing off his robes as best he can.

“Yes, we are,” Cara says. “How long do you think the water in our packs would have lasted out here?”

But in truth, Cara doesn’t feel so fortunate. The rain has turned the canyon’s dust into a thin, slimy mud that coats every surface, and her leathers stick to her skin like wet clay. She leaves the others and eventually finds a small, low cave with a sloping mouth that at least keeps the rain rolling away from the entrance. Cara gestures for Kahlan and Zedd to follow, and they leave their horses with Cara’s to hike down to the Mord-Sith.

Zedd crouches into the cave and collapses immediately, mumbling about the water and his old bones. Despite his fatigue, he manages to down two cold rabbit legs and a biscuit before he rolls over and begins snoring.

Cara snorts. The sun, though concealed by dark clouds, has not even set yet. Kahlan seems to be thinking something similar, because she looks at Zedd with a rueful smile as she attempts to wring out her hair. The cave amplifies the sound of the rain as it beats against the rock outside.

Cara shakes the water from her head and moves toward Kahlan, hunching slightly to avoid hitting the low ceiling. She takes the Mother Confessor’s hair out of her hands and twists it carefully around her own fingers, sending little streams to the floor. When Cara pulls her hands away, one accidentally brushes the damp, bare skin at the side of Kahlan’s neck, and she feels the other woman shiver. She wonders briefly if that spot tastes the same as Kahlan’s collarbone, or breasts, or if it has its own unique flavor.

Before her thoughts can tumble too far down dangerous paths, Cara turns and lowers herself against the wall of the cave, feet planted apart and her elbows resting on her knees. Kahlan follows, letting her wet shoulder touch the ties of Cara’s leathers. Cara considers if she should say something now, ask Kahlan if she is alright, but the pounding of the rain casts a hush over the cave.

As thunder rolls in the distance, Kahlan drops her head to Cara’s shoulder. Cara readjusts her arm to make room, and somehow ends up gripping the Confessor’s upper body, perhaps a little too tightly. They sit like that, side by side, through rounds of flashes and rumbles, until Kahlan’s periodic chills become a constant trembling.

“Do not take this the wrong way,” Cara says. “But you would be warmer if you undressed.”

Kahlan shifts so she can see Cara and raises a shrewd eyebrow. “So would you,” she argues, between the incessant drum of raindrops.

Cara studies Kahlan’s face for a moment, and then quirks her mouth to one side.

“Challenge accepted,” Cara drawls.

Cara stands up as much as she can and checks once that Zedd is still sleeping, and then begins unlacing the ties on her arms. Kahlan gapes at the Mord-Sith, mouth hanging open, until she seems to remember herself and scrambles to her feet.

Cara almost laughs out loud when modesty forces Kahlan to turn from Cara’s rapid disrobing, but it doesn’t seem appropriate. Instead, she allows herself a smirk as she peels the red leather over one bare foot and then the other. Kahlan, her back turned, tugs her soaked dress down her arms while Cara pulls the thickest blanket from her pack and sits back down with it around her shoulders. It takes every stretch of willpower that Cara possesses to keep her eyes on the ground in front of her and off of the Confessor’s body as she sheds her clothes. The idea of taking something from Kahlan that is not freely given -- even a glance -- sends an unfamiliar quiver of distaste through Cara’s system.

Kahlan turns back around, her dress left on a piece of rock jutting out from the wall. When she stands silently next to Cara instead of pulling out her own blanket, Cara finally looks at her. She keeps her eyes on Kahlan’s face -- mostly. She is surprised to find that though Kahlan looks flustered, there is no hint of shame in her eyes. She holds Cara’s gaze long enough to make the Mord-Sith feel unreasonably warm in the chill of the cave, until Cara holds out one blanketed arm and Kahlan drops to the ground to curl against her body.

This is not the way Cara pictured it when she had imagined pressing her naked skin against the Confessor’s for the first time. Still, there is something pleasant and vaguely thrilling about huddling together in the blanket against the cold stone wall.

When Kahlan’s hands have warmed enough to flex her fingers without fumbling, she stretches across Cara to grab her pack, careful to avoid the Agiels resting at the Mord-Sith’s far side. As she pulls back, bag in hand, her breasts brush against Cara’s knees beneath the blanket. Cara takes a quick breath and attempts to rein in the feelings that have been swirling inside her all day, waiting for a moment of weakness, like this one, to crash through Cara’s decaying barriers.

Kahlan reaches into her pack and produces two of the spiky green fruits she picked the night before. She uses the short, dulling camp knife to pry one open, and hands half to Cara. The fruit fills Cara’s entire hand, like a bowl, and she raises it to her mouth to bite into the pinkish-orange flesh inside. It’s not as bitter as she expected.

They eat in silence under the blanket, listening to the rain outside. As Kahlan cracks open the second fruit, Cara examines the Confessor. The tears from this morning have dried and their tracks washed away by the falling rain, but her eyes are still red and sorrowful. When Kahlan hands over the food and notices her staring, Cara purses her lips and looks away.

The question that has been burning a hole in her tongue all day finally finds a voice.

“What did you say to Lord Rahl?”

Kahlan sighs. “I told him the truth.”

“Which is?” The last thing Cara wants is to say these words, to admit that she’s unsure, that she cares. But she has to know.

“That I can’t be what he needs. Richard deserves a woman who loves him for everything he is, and who he can love for everything she is.”

“But you do love him. And the Lord Rahl loves you,” Cara says, and she doesn’t know why she’s defending him but she’s doing it anyway, and it feels right and also makes her want to strangle herself.

“I love Richard because he’s the Seeker, and a good man, and my family. But not because he’s Richard.” Kahlan shakes her head and it dislodges a few of the tears that have pooled in her eyes. “And Richard loves me in spite of what I am, not because of it.”

“And what are you?” Cara says, after a long moment.

Kahlan takes a slow breath. “I’m the Mother Confessor. And a Midlander. And a sister, and a fighter.”

The words hang in silence as lightning illuminates the grey sky outside the cave.

“You’re Kahlan.” To Cara, there is nothing more obvious.

 A smile crosses Kahlan’s face beneath her tears.

“Yes. I’m Kahlan.”

In one motion, Cara drops the blanket she holds around them and grips the back of Kahlan’s neck. She presses their lips together and she kisses this Confessor, this fighter -- this _woman_ \-- with everything she has.

Kahlan rises up on her knees to meet Cara’s mouth, and she snakes her arms around the Mord-Sith. Cara can taste the salt of Kahlan’s tears running between them, but it doesn’t bother her the way it did two nights ago on the hill. There’s something about the way Kahlan moves, and the openness of her face, that tells Cara this is not the same kind of crying.

Their lips and tongues move together until Kahlan drops one hand to Cara’s hip and pulls her body close. Cara releases Kahlan’s face and gently dislodges the hands from her body.

She rests her forehead against Kahlan’s. “Not here,” Cara says.

Kahlan looks around, then, and seems to remember where they are: crouched in a dank, echoing cave, naked save for the blanket that has fallen around their waists. She gives a yelp when she sees Zedd’s sleeping body, and immediately buries her face against Cara’s neck.

Cara pulls Kahlan’s head back after a moment, prepared to tell her that it’s fine, that he didn’t see anything. But when she sees the look on the Confessor’s face, the words die in her throat. Kahlan’s brief embarrassment has vanished, but the desire remains. Kahlan takes a shaky breath, stands, gives her one final look, and then moves past Cara and out of the cave, trailing her fingers along the Mord-Sith’s ribs as she goes. 

Cara closes her eyes and grips the Agiel by her foot keep from losing her mind. She does not know how this woman has obliterated her defenses, but Rahl help her if she doesn’t follow Kahlan into the rain.

The fat drops hit Cara’s bare skin like hundreds of icy pricks, but she doesn’t feel the cold. She stalks the several yards to where Kahlan stands on the narrow ledge, back turned. She hesitates behind the Confessor, until Kahlan turns and grabs Cara’s hand. She pulls the Mord-Sith to her, tangling their mouths in a kiss as explosive as all those Cara ever shared with her Sisters, put together.

And this, from a Confessor. Cara’s mind reels, even as she digs her bare hands into the other woman’s sides. 

She lets Kahlan push her against the rock wall at the side of the trail, ignoring the fading voice inside that screams at her to stop, to run, to destroy this woman. When Kahlan’s mouth drops to her neck, her head falls back and she watches the rain cascade into the canyon behind the Confessor. Kahlan’s hands can’t seem to touch enough of her and they skate frantically over wet skin.

Cara feels the heat rise in her body and she isn’t sure how long she’ll be able to resist pulling Kahlan to the ground to claim her. She’s about to do just that, when the other woman withdraws. Kahlan’s gaze drops from her face and slowly, achingly repeats the path her hands took over the Mord-Sith’s body.

Cara cocks her head to the side as the Confessor examines her. She has seen mirrors; she knows she is attractive -- beautiful, even. She knows exactly what her body does to the men she trains, and to some of the women. Given an approximation of a slave’s weaknesses, she can predict precisely how each piece of her anatomy will break the victim’s resolve, bend him to her will. She knows her body, but she has never seen it like this.

Reflected in the Mother Confessor’s darkened eyes is more than a weapon. As Kahlan licks her lips, Cara’s legs and breasts and muscles and scars become more than a sum of the parts. The sensation makes her ache to be back in the safety of her leather, or else stay naked with Kahlan forever.

Cara watches Kahlan kneel on the ground in front of her, and none of the dozens of times her traitorous heart imagined this have prepared her for the reality. She tilts her chin up, desperate to maintain control of her body, but then Kahlan’s mouth is between her legs. Kahlan’s tongue grazes the sensitive skin, and Cara bites back a moan she didn’t know she had in her. She glances down, and she finds blue eyes staring up at her under dark lashes. Cara realizes Kahlan is waiting for permission, and that alone sends a hot flush of need to Cara’s center. She nods once, jerkily, and grips the forearm resting against her thigh.

Kahlan dives into Cara like her survival depends on it. Her tongue slides along the length of the Mord-Sith’s flesh, and Cara can’t hold in her gasp. She wonders fleetingly if Kahlan knew her sister Confessors better than she let on, because there is no way she should be able to do this so well. Cara tosses her head back on the rock and welcomes the pain that blooms in her skull. It works for a moment to keep her grounded, keep her from bursting against Kahlan’s impossibly warm mouth, but only for a moment.

The Confessor moves her right hand behind Cara’s knee and alternates fluttering strokes with rough scratches down the back of Cara’s thigh. As Kahlan fixes her attention on Cara’s clit, the Mord-Sith throws one arm to the side and clings to the muddy stone, her other hand still clenched around Kahlan’s left arm. Despite her best efforts to remain motionless, her hips quake against the Mother Confessor’s tongue. Kahlan sucks hard, and the climax breaks through Cara’s body, drawing a deep moan from her lips.

Cara comes down slowly, holding on to the feeling of Kahlan’s tongue as it licks the wetness from her thighs. When she opens her eyes and finds the Confessor smiling up at her from the ground, drenched with rain water, Cara feels the furious, familiar pressure clench in her chest, and, for once, she lets it grip her.

As she pulls Kahlan to her feet, she realizes her forceful grasp on the Mother Confessor’s forearm has not relaxed. She yanks her hand away, but it’s too late. Five finger-shaped bruises mar Kahlan’s pale skin.

Cara stares at the marks, and her stomach clenches. Kahlan’s gaze follows, but when Cara looks back up, the Confessor wears a half-smile. Well then. Cara’s lips curl, too, and she folds her arms across her chest.

“Proud of ourselves, are we?” she says.

Kahlan’s cheeks turn pink, but she grins.

Cara can recall the precise moment when this happened last, when she allowed herself to come apart in another’s hands for no good reason at all, except wanting to. She can count the number of times on one hand, and none compare to the feeling of the Mother Confessor, the way each touch burned through Cara’s skin and into her very core.

Cara revels in the stain coloring Kahlan’s cheeks for a long moment, and then pulls away. She presses the fingers of one hand to her chin, as if in thought, and leisurely circles Kahlan on the ledge. She ignores the thunder and the rain dripping from her eyelashes as she pauses, drawing out the moment until the Confessor’s body tautens with anticipation. And then in a single flash, Cara takes her prey. She pushes Kahlan to the rock wall, the front of her body pressed against Kahlan’s back. One arm grips the Confessor around her middle and the other stretches out to the stone, holding their weight inches from the rock. 

“Don’t get too cocky, Confessor,” Cara murmurs into her ear, and then tugs on the lobe with her teeth.

Kahlan’s eyes flutter shut.  “Yes, Cara,” she says, but Cara can hear the hint of a smile still in her voice.

Cara moves her hand firmly down Kahlan’s front, caressing and holding the woman steady in the same motion. Cara kisses Kahlan’s shoulder blade and brushes her fingers through the curls between her legs. She strokes feather-light touches against the skin there, and the Mother Confessor grips the rock in front of her and shudders. 

Cara smiles to herself and whispers into dark hair. “What do you want, Kahlan?”

Cara is only asking the same question she has posed to dozens of blushing conquests. But when she says it to Kahlan now, a little part of her flares up in anticipation of the answer. Kahlan presses her hips against Cara’s hand, but the Mord-Sith moves her fingers just out of reach.

“Tell me,” she coaxes.

“ _Cara_ ,” Kahlan moans, and Cara is willing to bet this is the closest the Mother Confessor has ever come to whining. Kahlan’s skin is hot with the flush that covers her body.

Cara moves her fingers lower, skating over the wetness of Kahlan’s flesh but never quite making solid contact. The other woman makes a sound that could be considered a whimper, and Cara feels moisture flood her body all over again. She flicks her fingertip over Kahlan’s clit, barely touching skin, until finally the shaking Confessor crumbles.

“Touch me, please,” Kahlan bursts out.

It’s good enough, for now. Cara kisses Kahlan’s neck and touches her fingers instantly to the Confessor, who gives a ragged cry into the stone wall. She presses sure, firm strokes against the impossibly wet skin, and this time she doesn’t pull away from Kahlan’s grinding hips.

Cara circles Kahlan’s clit once, and then slides her hand lower. The Mother Confessor gasps as Cara pushes two fingers into her. Cara moves slowly, drawing in and out, letting Kahlan adjust to the feel of her hand. But almost as soon as the Mord-Sith sets a rhythm, Kahlan bucks desperately into Cara, demanding more, faster, harder. Cara tightens her grip on the stone beside Kahlan’s head and pushes roughly into the Confessor. When Kahlan’s breath hitches, Cara grinds the palm of her hand into her clit with each thrust of her fingers.

Kahlan twists one arm behind her and wedges it between them, as if to shove Cara away. The pressure is insignificant to the Mord-Sith, and she does not relinquish the body in front of her. She knows she is playing a dangerous game. She knows it is one that will get her killed, and yet she can’t bring herself to pull away. At last, when Kahlan begins to shake in earnest, Cara slides her fingers out and forces her feet to carry her backwards, one foot behind the other, until she no longer touches the Mother Confessor’s skin.

As she comes, Kahlan cries Cara’s name. Her power roars to life and its fury mixes with the storm, but Cara does not hear the deafening crackle of unbridled magic; only her name on the Confessor’s lips. Once, the thought of Kahlan saying her name with anything other than disdain was absurd. Hearing it shouted like this, naked with ecstasy and emotion, was unthinkable. The sound thunders through the Mord-Sith, lending strength to her tumultuous insides even as it shakes her very foundations.

Cara rests her forehead on the Mother Confessor’s shoulder and fights tooth and nail to maintain her equilibrium. Her recently liberated feelings rejoice in Kahlan’s outburst, in her nearness, in the sensation of her wetness all over Cara’s hand. But the other parts of Cara come to the battle, too. Even as she breathes in Kahlan’s skin, icy panic rises sharp and fast.

Cara is suddenly aware of the rain beating down on her muddy skin, aware of the way she has bared herself to Kahlan, of Zedd asleep in the cave, of Richard’s heartbreak, of her duty and her past. Of the very real possibility that she and Kahlan will be dead in a few short weeks. She, perhaps, at Lord Rahl’s own hand.

Kahlan seems to sense the tension in Cara, because she turns away from the wall, still trapped between the Mord-Sith’s arms.

“Cara?” she says, placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

It’s too much, and Cara just grunts. She stares at the wall behind Kahlan instead of looking at her. Kahlan reaches for one of her hands, but she pulls it away.

“I serve the Lord Rahl,” Cara says.

“What?” Kahlan says, still breathless. Her brows knit together. It is clear this is not the direction she expected this to take. “Cara, what are--”

“I serve the Lord Rahl. That’s who I am. You are Kahlan, and all the other things. I serve the Lord Rahl.”

“Yes, you do,” Kahlan agrees slowly. Cara crosses her bare arms over her chest, and Kahlan’s body stiffens. “Cara, I’m not trying to take that away,” she whispers.

“I know how important your duty is to you.” Kahlan swallows. “I didn’t tell Richard about... this, yet.”

“Good,” is what Cara finally says, but she is beyond the ability to tell if her voice conveys the sentiment. Feelings of all shapes and sizes rattle the walls inside her, and her heart hammers so hard it hurts. The last thing she feels is good.

She watches Kahlan’s face turn from confused to hurt, and then to the blank, regal look of the Confessor.

Kahlan nods once. “I understand,” she says.

But Cara knows she doesn’t. Cara doesn’t even understand it herself -- how it is that she can feel relieved at Lord Rahl’s ignorance of her betrayal, while she also wishes, sickeningly, that Kahlan had announced it to him, to everyone, with a parade of merry trumpeters. She doesn’t understand how she can desperately want back the simplicity of her old life, and at the same time, hope that the whole world will see the marks her hand left on Kahlan’s arm, and know it was she who put them there, and why.


	5. Chapter 5

By early morning, the downpour has calmed to a steady dripping. Cara, Kahlan, and Zedd leave the protection of the cave to trek through the rain, taking turns holding the lead to Richard’s empty horse. Two days pass, then three, but there is no sign of the Seeker. Five days, and the tension in the air is a solid, oppressive force.

After they turned into the Dunver Pass, a narrow and barren break in the rock that will take them north through the canyon, Cara began checking every corner, every connecting trail, for a trace of the Lord Rahl. There was nothing.

“Kahlan, did Richard say exactly where he would rejoin us?” Zedd finally asks the question that has been pressing on them all day, all week.

“No.” Kahlan shifts in her saddle. “I should have asked him. He just left so quickly, after....” The Mother Confessor’s voice trails off, but they all know what she means. After she told Richard their relationship was over. After she ripped out his heart.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll pop up any time now,” Zedd says, false cheer coloring his words. The wizard had not spelled Richard’s shoes before his sudden departure, and they don’t have the resources to hook him with a tracer cloud. Their only option, now, is faith.

Cara, riding behind Kahlan, does not contribute to the conversation. She sees no need to point out what the three of them already know: that Lord Rahl could be in grave danger, and there is nothing they can do prevent it. Or that his continued absence might be due to something else entirely, something they have even less control over: his broken heart.

Cara’s bones ache with deeply ingrained worry for the Lord Rahl, and at her own impotence. Once, she would have rounded up her best Sisters and taken to the sky. They would have located their master and had him fully protected by dinnertime. But now Cara is alone, bereft of the shared source of that power, forced to trudge through a slimy, desolate canyon with the First Wizard and the Mother Confessor.

Cara’s chest tightens as her eyes sweep over the woman in front of her. Kahlan has shared few words with the Mord-Sith since the day they stood naked on the ledge outside the cave and Cara told her she was glad the Lord Rahl didn’t know they’d lain together. Her hasty, panicked statement to Kahlan was partly true, and Cara had wrapped it around herself like a cloak.

She dreads failing her Lord, and felt incredible relief when she learned he was unaware of her betrayal. She fears not the punishment, but the loss. For even serving Richard Rahl, earnest and reluctant Richard, is preferable to the oblivion a Mord-Sith would face without a master. Better that he kill her than send her away. For without Lord Rahl, what would she have? Who would she be?

But those fears compete with the nausea she feels at the thought of never touching Kahlan again. Though her face remains a perfect mask of indifference, Cara’s insides churn every time Kahlan mentions her to Zedd, every time green eyes meet blue across the fire, every time the Mother Confessor watches her back but does not speak. She knows these feelings are an unforgivable weakness, but she feels them all the same.

Worse, still, is watching the miserable expression that falls over Kahlan’s face whenever she thinks no one can see. Cara sees it now, through the drizzle, each time Kahlan’s horse steps to the side and angles his rider toward the Mord-Sith. Cara studies her carefully as they travel, watchful for any sign that the Confessor is too cold or wet or tired to continue. She has sworn to protect Kahlan for the Lord Rahl, after all.

When the rain begins to fall once more in hard sheets, Cara’s eyes scout the surrounding rock for a suitable shelter. The pass is almost narrow enough for her to stretch her arms out and touch both sides, and covered areas are rare. The night before, they’d been forced to sleep under separate small overhangs a few dozen paces apart. Cara stayed awake all night, even during Zedd’s watch. She knew if she closed her eyes and a threat approached, she’d never reach Kahlan in time.

Finally, Cara spots a low cave up ahead. She is about to tell Kahlan and Zedd to stop, that they should pull up and wait out the rain. But then she sees them.

Rats.

Dozens of black rats tumble around her horse’s feet, their claws clattering against the wet rock. Cara feels the vomit pressing up in her throat. Her first instinct is to dismount and Agiel every one of the hateful creatures to death, but there are too many. She looks back the way they came as her horse snorts and jumps. Thousands of tiny bodies race toward her down the pass. Cara’s second instinct is to run.

“MOVE!” she screams.

Kahlan’s face twists in disgust as she sees the black sea of rats swirl beneath them. Zedd, in the front, blasts a few hundred with wizard’s fire. They don’t understand.

“Forget the rats!” Cara barks. “GO!”

Zedd attempts his fire once more and Kahlan’s horse rears up as she tries to kick him forward, and then finally they are moving, galloping as hard as they can to keep pace with the wave of rats and whatever they are running from. Cara releases Richard’s horse and prays it will follow on its own.

She pushes her own animal harder, as fast as she can manage without slamming into the rock walls. It’s not fast enough.

They hear the thunderous rumble behind them before they see the flood. Cara turns to find a surge of dark, churning water coursing toward them, overtaking legions of rats as it swallows up the pass. Even at a dead run, Cara feels the spray of the water against her back.

“Zedd! Do something!”

Zedd turns his head, and from the look on his face when he sees the water, Cara knows it’s more than he can handle while steering the horse and staying upright. He raises one hand and shoots a powerful blast of air into the wave, slowing its progress as they flee. Zedd loses his grip on the magic as his horse stumbles on a loose stone. The horse recovers, but the spell does not. The water rushes toward them once more and the wizard throws up shield after shield, desperate to buy more time.

Cara sees Kahlan’s horse begin to foam at the mouth, and she knows they can’t keep this up much longer. Even if Zedd could hold his shields indefinitely, they still have at least another day to travel before they reach the end of the pass. The horses can’t hold the pace. There is no way to outrun the water.

 “We’re not going to make it!” Cara shouts over the roar of the wave. “You have to jump. As high up as you can reach.”

In between blasts of air and fire, Zedd’s eyes scour the pass for a place he can grab on to. Cara turns her attention to Kahlan, who has her reins in a death grip.

“Kahlan! On the right, the overhang,” Cara yells. It’s too high, too slippery, but it’s the only chance.

“I can’t!” Kahlan eyes the approaching ridge with disbelief. “I can’t!”

“Yes, you can! Let go of the reins. Now, Kahlan!”

The Confessor obeys, but it’s all she can do to stay upright as her boots swing in the stirrups. To jump would be unthinkable. But then the overhang is there, and Cara is screaming at her, and in the next moment she is clinging to the wet rock, scrambling out of the saddle and onto a skinny ledge, and then up as fast as she can climb.

Cara gallops behind Kahlan’s frantic horse. When she reaches the ledge where Kahlan leapt, she stands up in the saddle and jumps. Her legs propel her up and her gloves provide extra friction as her body slams into the wall, but it’s still almost impossible to hold on. Her left boot slips on the wet stone. She is nearly lost, but she feels a strong hand grip the leather at the back of her neck and tug. Kahlan holds Cara to the rocks as she regains her footing. She stares down at Cara, eyes shining with emotions the Mord-Sith feels ill-qualified to label, much less receive. Cara shakes her hand off.

“Climb, Kahlan!”

Cara watches the water over her shoulder, temporarily held by an invisible barrier of Zedd’s conjured air. She looks around for the wizard and lets out a breath when she finds him standing on a piece of rock jutting out from the wall up ahead. Somehow, the old man has used his power to make himself nimble enough to jump. But Cara knows the magic can’t maintain both the barrier and his own balance.

She pulls herself up the cliff face after Kahlan, shoving the Confessor upwards whenever she’s near enough to reach. Mist coats their faces and the water is almost deafening as it crashes through the last of Zedd’s defenses. They have run out of time.

When Kahlan’s feet reach a small outcropping ten yards above the ground, Cara shouts for her to stop. The water will hit here, but at least there’s a slim possibility they’ll be able to hang on. Cara edges toward Kahlan and pulls up onto the thin ledge. She flattens her body against the wall and uses one arm to grip the muddy rock and the other to pin Kahlan upright next to her.

“Hold on!” Cara says as the Mother Confessor’s fingers curl into the cracks in the rough stone.

She looks over her shoulder, and the wave is upon them, submerging their bodies in dark, freezing water. The fury of the wave knocks Cara’s head sideways into a jagged piece of rock, but she forces down the blackness that encroaches on her mind and clutches at the wall through the swirling rush. Just when her lungs begin to burn with captive air and she fears they will have to chance the current and swim for the surface, the water begins to recede. Cara takes a gasping breath, and as the oxygen reaches her tingling limbs she realizes the body under her arm has grown limp and heavy.

Kahlan is not breathing.

In an instant, the dizziness that clouds Cara’s mind becomes sharp, jolting focus. Cara turns the Confessor from the wall and catches her face in one hand as it lolls forward against her chest.

“Kahlan!” Cara shakes the chin in her hand, but Kahlan’s lips remain cold and unmoving.

Cara lays the Mother Confessor down on the sliver of ledge beneath their feet. Her knees barely fit on either side of Kahlan’s torso as she climbs on top of her, but she pays no heed to anything but the ash-white face beneath her. As she bears down on Kahlan, throwing her weight behind each thrust of her palms into the Mother Confessor’s chest, all Cara can think about is how Kahlan is going to die, and she won’t be able to help. About the time she has squandered over the last few days. About how she will never have another chance to tease her or kiss her or feel the unsettling circle of her arms. She spares only a fraction of a second to think about the promise she made to Lord Rahl to keep his woman alive. That vow feels insignificant now, like a discarded token from another life.

As she pounds on Kahlan’s chest, she is vaguely aware of someone screaming obscenities, in a voice that sounds like her own. Just before Cara fears she will put a hole in Kahlan’s breastbone with the force of her blows, the water that blocked her lungs comes gurgling out of the Mother Confessor’s throat. Cara yanks Kahlan up to her as she sputters and gasps.

Finally, she takes a full, wheezing breath. She digs her fingers into the leather on Cara’s back and buries her face in the Mord-Sith’s neck. Cara does not offer reassuring words or soothing caresses, she just holds Kahlan to her chest and tries not to tremble.

Cara listens to each heartbeat. She counts one hundred and fifty steady thumps from the Mother Confessor before she raises her head to take stock of their surroundings.

The water has receded, but not enough. A murky river courses through the pass they rode only minutes before, its surface a few feet below the ledge. The water forms white, frothy piles at each jagged rock in its way.

“Where’s Zedd?” Kahlan says, her voice croaky. She can’t see from where she is pressed into Cara’s leather.

Zedd sits on an outcropping fifty paces ahead, his legs dangling out from beneath his robes. Cara glares at the old man, sun-bathing while she worked frantically to save Kahan’s life.

“He’s fine,” Cara growls.

She rises to her feet, pulling Kahlan up with her. They fit better on the ledge standing than sitting, but it’s still a tight squeeze. Kahlan reaches up to touch the Mord-Sith’s forehead, and when she pulls her hand back it’s covered in blood.

“Are you alright?” Kahlan says, her voice full of worry.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Cara bats her hand away, but the Confessor’s concern doesn’t bother her the way it used to. It sort of feels a little bit nice.

Cara turns away to look out across the pass. She is about to call to Zedd, to mock his skinny ankles and demand he magic them up a little boat.

But then Cara remembers.

“Richard,” she breathes.

In her desperation to revive Kahlan, she had forgotten Lord Rahl. Forgotten the years of training she endured to ensure her master would always be first on her mind. Distantly, she hears Kahlan’s fearful cry. Richard could be drowning.

Cara pulls both Agiels into her fists and the pain sings to her.

“He’s not dead.” The words are a small consolation to them both.

“We have to find him. Now,” Kahlan says.

Cara turns to Kahlan, the look on her face all Mord-Sith. “Can you swim?”

“Cara, wait!” Zedd shouts from where he sits. “We must not let our passion get ahead of our reason. We won’t be of any help to Richard if we’re dead ourselves.”

“Fine,” Cara snaps across the pass as she starts to lower herself down. “You can stay here.”

“Cara, think. When is the last time you saw water move like this through a place that’s usually as dry as my own elbow skin?”

“Explain faster, Wizard! You have five seconds.”

“This is no ordinary run-off. Even with all the rain we’ve had, it wouldn’t be nearly enough to create a flow like this one. I fear there is powerful magic at work here.”

Cara nearly shrieks with impatience. “Fine, powerful magic! Magic intended to kill Lord Rahl!”

“Are you sure?” Zedd raises his eyebrows. “Or is it possible it was meant for someone else?”

Finally, Cara pauses. As long as the Mother Confessor’s pure heart beats. Kahlan. She looks at the woman next to her, who is gripping her daggers with a vengeance, like they might help her fight the river. Cara forces herself to take a deep breath.

“Cara,” Zedd says again, more gently. “I agree with you both, we need to find Richard. But we also need to keep our heads. Richard is a grown man, and a resourceful one at that. If the wave had caught him, he would already be dead. I’ve been studying the water, and though I believe it is of magical origin, it appears to be normal in all other ways.”

Zedd pulls one foot up out of the water to show them. “See? I still have all my toes. Just the same, we must proceed with caution.”

“What do you suggest, Zedd?” Kahlan says. “We’re stuck here in this river, magical or not, with no way to continue. Without the Seeker!”

“Ah.” Zedd holds up one finger and climbs slowly to his feet. “If you would only indulge me a moment, child. I believe there is a way. If you would please step off that ledge and put your feet, say, right about there.” Zedd waves his robed arm at the water in front of Kahlan.

The water looks exactly the same as all the rest of it: brown and choppy. Cara stares with distaste at the spot Zedd indicated. She might not be able to see the magic, but she can feel it. As Kahlan moves forward to step off the ledge, Cara puts one arm out to block her.

“You’ve drowned once already today, Mother Confessor. I will test the wizard’s ridiculous magic trick first,” Cara says. Kahlan makes a small sound in response, the tiniest hint of laughter, and it eases some of the tension that has gripped Cara’s muscles since she first saw the rats.

She steps off the rock, and for a moment she thinks it hasn’t worked, that she is about to plunge into the swift-moving river. But then her boot settles into something squishy. It feels almost like standing on a half-empty water skin, and she has to hold her hands out to keep from toppling over. When she looks down, it appears that her feet are hovering a few inches above the water. Cara rolls her eyes. Magic.

“You next,” Zedd says to Kahlan, his eyes fixed intensely on the spot under Cara’s boots.

Kahlan lifts her dress to sheath her daggers and steps down behind Cara, causing the cloud of air to undulate beneath them. She grips the Mord-Sith’s waist to keep from falling, and Cara feels a warm flush spread from Kahlan’s fingertips, under her leather and right through to her insides.

Zedd stretches out his arms and makes tiny circular motions with his long fingers, drawing the two women and their invisible platform over the water and toward his perch on the cliff face. To Cara’s distaste, moving on a conjured air bubble is even less pleasant than standing on one.

“I would suggest you both sit down.” Zedd adjusts his robes as he lowers himself down to sit on the air in front of Cara, cross-legged. “Unless you want to end up swimming behind our illustrious vessel.”

Cara glares at the top of Zedd’s head and opens her mouth to tell him she’d rather swim in a sea of piranhas, thank you very much, when Kahlan tugs on the regs leather under her hands. For Kahlan, and Kahlan alone, Cara allows herself to be dragged down to sit on a spirit-forsaken magical raft. When she feels the Mother Confessor’s arms wrap around her stomach and the warm breath against her ear, it becomes not her least favorite way to travel.

Zedd mutters something under his breath, and whatever force was holding the boat in place gives way. The three of them shoot down the pass with the current, which is even faster than Cara had estimated from the ledge. It looks like floating, but it feels more like riding a gigantic, lumpy snake.

They twist around curves and through narrow gaps in the rock wall. Cara lets one of her hands trail along the surface of the water as they move, until her wrist collides with the cold, floating body of a dead rat. The water carries them twice as far as the horses could have managed, in half the time. Still, Richard is nowhere to be seen.

“There!” Kahlan shouts, pulling one arm from Cara’s body to point off to the left. It’s the Seeker’s pack. Cara clenches one Agiel instinctively, but the weapon’s magic still hums.

“The water must have carried him farther down the pass,” Zedd says. “We’ll have to keep going.”

“And how much farther can we go, Wizard? The end of this trail is a dead drop into the canyon. This river will become a waterfall.” Cara peers around Zedd’s shoulder and tries to estimate the distance to the point where the pass ends, forcing travelers to turn a sharp right onto another trail that runs up the cliff face and out of the canyon. They don’t have much longer.

Zedd grumbles. “Have a little faith, Cara. I can turn a boat as well as I can sail one. We’ll be fine.”

As they come around another curve, the water beneath them begins to churn with white bubbles and the current takes on a violent, jerking pace. When Cara leans around Zedd once more, she sees the drop-off.

They speed toward the end of the pass, skating over the water. Cara grips her Agiel in one hand and a fistful of Zedd’s robe in the other.

“Zedd, now!” Kahlan yells from over Cara’s shoulder.

“Zedd!”

“I’m turning!” Zedd shouts back, moving his hands frantically in front of him. But they’re not turning. The walls on either side of them suddenly end, and the massive expanse of the canyon fills Cara’s vision.

She braces herself for the fall, for the sharp death that will surely follow, but it doesn’t come. The water doesn’t pour from the pass and down into the gorge; it carries them straight off of the trail and into the air. They ride the arc of water right over the northwest tip of the Dunver Canyon, clutching at each other to stay atop the conjured raft.

Zedd waves his hands in every combination Cara has ever seen and mutters furiously under his breath, but none of his attempts seem to change their trajectory.

When she looks down, past the swirling stream beneath them and into the deep canyon, Cara is not prepared to be affected by the landscape below. But as much as she would prefer to be on land, for Kahlan to be safely on the ground, there is something indescribably wonderful about flying -- not as a raven serving Darken Rahl, but as Cara Mason.

They reach the other side of the canyon, above the trail they would have hiked out of, days from now, had they still been on the horses. They pass through the last of the drizzle that has followed them for the past week and into bright sunshine. Still the surge of water carries them on, over cracked earth and trees that grow greener with each passing moment.

Finally, just as Cara begins to consider the likelihood of surviving a jump from this height, the water comes crashing down. The force of the drop knocks the three of them from the invisible boat, and they tumble into a pile on the ground. Cara rolls away and leaps to her feet, ignoring the ache in her arm from where she landed on it.

“Cara?” It’s Richard’s voice.

The Mord-Sith spins around to find Lord Rahl soaking wet and sprawled in the sunny grass. He looks slightly dazed and water drips from the tip of his nose, but he is very much alive.

“Richard!” Zedd climbs shakily to his feet and ambles over to his grandson. “How did you get here?”

“Same as you, I guess. It was so strange. I was hiking through the pass, and all of a sudden this wave came up behind me. I thought I was going to drown, but the next thing I knew I was here.”

Cara glances around the grove they landed in, but there is no indication of exactly where here is. As her eyes pass over a thick tree, she hears a voice that makes her teeth grind together.

“If I had a gold piece for all things you knew, Seeker, I’d... well, I suppose I’d still have exactly as many as I have now.” Shota steps out from behind the tree, perfectly dry and wearing a self-satisfied grin.

“Or should I call you Lord Rahl? How nice of you to join me, all of you,” Shota says, glancing at the four wet travelers who all stand poised to strike.

“Shota!” Zedd roars. “Have you lost your mind? How could you join with the Keeper?” Zedd advances on the witch woman, but she holds up her hand and a glittering yellow web blocks his way.

“Oh, Zeddicus, I see you’re as outrageous as ever, even at your advanced age. The Keeper is certainly no friend of mine.”

Cara watches out of the corner of her eye as Richard glares at Shota. “Then why did you try to drown all of us? Do you have any idea what kind of mission we’re on?” he demands.

Shota waves her hand dismissively. “I wasn’t trying to drown you, silly boy. I just needed to make sure you all arrived promptly for our little chat.” She adjusts the heavy necklace on her chest and brushes a mass of auburn hair over her shoulder. “Now--”

Cara is a blur of red fury as she lunges at the sorceress. She brings her Agiel down across Shota’s face so hard the woman falls backward with a pained shriek.

“You sent that wave so we would come chat with you?” She grabs Shota by the shoulders and slams her against the ground. “You almost killed Kahlan! She almost DIED!” Cara feels her control slipping, and she welcomes the madness.

Shota looks up at her in fear, blood dripping from the gash on her cheek. Good. She should be afraid. She opens her mouth to speak, but Cara digs her Agiel into Shota’s stomach.

“YOU ALMOST KILLED HER!”

Cara’s eyes flash with unhinged rage and her hand clenches around Shota’s throat. The witch woman coughs and gasps as her airway compresses, but she manages to choke out two muffled words.

“You’re crying,” Shota says.

Cara almost doesn’t hear her. The words don’t make any sense, until she reaches up and feels the wetness on her face. Abruptly, she releases Shota’s neck. Cara waits for Darken Rahl to jump out of the trees and beat her senseless, or for the Keeper himself to reach up from the underworld strike her down dead. She waits, but nothing happens.

Finally, as she and Shota stare at each other, Cara feels a soft hand wrap around her elbow and guide her off of the sorceress. She lets Kahlan to pull her to her feet, but she does not meet the Confessor’s eyes. She stares straight ahead, over Shota’s prone body and into the forest, her back to the men. Her Agiel itches for the witch woman’s blood, but she holds it stiffly at her side.

“What could you possibly have to say that would warrant such a stunt, woman?” Zedd holds his hands on his hips and glares down at Shota, who is still grasping at her throat.

Only when Zedd starts to speak does Cara release the breath she has been holding. He sounds normal. Apparently, he didn’t hear Shota’s observation. It was only Kahlan who saw her face. Cara clenches her hands and drags the back of one fist across the water on her cheeks.

Shota coughs several times, each more dramatic than the last. “Much of what I intended to tell you has been rendered pointless by your little leather lap dog, who apparently already has feel--”

Kahlan lunges forward, arm outstretched. “SHOTA! If you don’t get to the point, I will confess you!”

Shota laughs. “You’d be at the bottom of that canyon before you even touched me.”

“Not if Cara holds you down first,” Kahlan growls.

“Ooo,” Shota taunts, but Cara can see the fear behind her bravado.

“Enough!” Richard steps between the three women and holds up his hands. He looks from Cara to Kahlan, wincing when his gaze falls on the Confessor. Cara senses his urge to rush to Kahlan and embrace her, the way he leans slightly forward when their eyes meet, but he resists.

“Shota,” Richard says, turning to the woman on the ground. “I suggest you tell us what you have to say.”

“Some of the world’s horrors are better left unspoken.”

“Now, Shota!”

Shota glares up at the four of them. She looks at Cara the most, seeming to weigh her options. When she speaks, her voice holds only a dash of its usual affectation.

“You must fulfill your destiny, Richard Rahl. You have more important things to do than run around in the woods.”

“More important things to do than stop the Keeper from destroying the world?” Richard rolls his eyes.

“Yes! While you play hide and seek with your friends, your kingdom falls to ruin.”

“My kingdom? You mean D’Hara.” Richard frowns. “I am not the Lord Rahl!”

“Yes you are!” Shota and Cara shout at the same time. Cara scowls at Shota and folds her arms.

“Indeed,” Shota says, flicking her eyes back to Richard. “You must reclaim your han and take your throne. I don’t relish a world overrun by your brother’s Mord-Sith. I came upon several of them recently and they have manners as refined as a pack of wild calthrops.”

Kahlan stiffens beside her, but Cara barely notices the insult. The part of Shota’s complaint that bothers Cara is how she could possibly have met Mord-Sith and lived to tell the tale. None of her former sisters would have let a sorceress survive long enough to sneeze, let alone escape.

She watches warily as the witch woman gets slowly to her feet, still rubbing her neck where Cara grabbed her. Shota looks between Cara and Kahlan for a long moment. Finally, she steps toward the Confessor and reaches to place a hand on Kahlan’s forearm. When Cara grips her Agiel with a threatening snarl, Shota settles for standing near them, hands to herself.

“I arrived today with a speech prepared for the two of you,” Shota says quietly. Cara rolls her eyes toward the sky. “But you seem to be a step ahead of me. An uncomfortable feeling for one with a gift like mine.” Shota offers a ghost of a smile that neither woman returns. “All I can tell you is that you must find the strength to do what you will. Mother Confessor, your power waits for you. It is imperative that you welcome it.”

Kahlan’s eyebrows draw together. “What--?”

Before she can get the rest of the question out, Shota is gone.

“SHOTA!” Zedd bellows. Cara and Richard spin around, hands on their weapons, but the witch has vanished.

“What does that mean, my power?” Kahlan says.

“Who knows?” Richard snaps. “All that woman is good for are riddles and lies.”

Kahlan stares at him, and Richard stares back. Now that Shota is gone and the four of them are left standing in the woods, tension rolls between the Kahlan and the Seeker.

“Are you alright?” Richard finally says.

“Yes.”

Richard looks away first, his heart on his sleeve. “Let’s get going, then.”

\--

The sole advantage of the witch’s interference is that her magical waterfall deposited them only a few leagues south of the Night Wisps’ forest. It is the only thing that keeps Cara from plotting the many gruesome ways she will kill Shota the next time they meet. Instead, Cara tries to focus on the fact that both the Mother Confessor and the Lord Rahl are still alive. She has not failed.

As they hike, Cara says a silent goodbye to the horses they left behind in the pass. They were good animals, and she hopes, at least, it was a quick death.

Richard and Zedd’s argument about the Seeker’s han grows gradually quieter as they break the trail ahead. When their words become nothing more than a low hum, Kahlan walks so close to Cara that their arms brush with each step. It’s the nearest the Confessor has been to her in days, if she doesn’t count the time Kahlan’s unconscious body was sprawled under hers on the ledge. And Cara doesn’t count it.  

They reach the Forest of the Night Wisps just before dusk. Kahlan stops as they crest the hill that looks out over the lush green foliage of the forest.

“Richard, I need the scroll.” She holds her hand out to the Seeker, who stands as far from her as possible while still belonging to their group.

This is the moment when Richard is supposed to insist that Kahlan can’t go without him, but Cara watches as he wordlessly hands over the paper. Kahlan turns and starts into the forest, and Cara flanks the Mother Confessor before Lord Rahl can order her to.

As they make their way deeper into the trees, Cara starts to glance around for the tiny creatures they came to find, but she doesn’t know exactly what she’s looking for.

“How are we supposed to find one of these _wisps_?” Cara lifts a branch with her Agiel and peers into the brush.

“We don’t have to find them. They’re everywhere.”

Cara frowns. “Then why--?”

Kahlan stops abruptly and spins around. “Cara.”

In the split second it takes the Mord-Sith to raise her eyebrow, Kahlan’s arms have encircled her in a crushing embrace. It takes Cara a moment to realize that she is being hugged, for the second time in as many months. Unlike in the tomb, Cara sheaths her Agiel and grips the Confessor with both hands.

Cara had satisfied herself in the canyon by counting Kahlan’s heartbeats, and as they hiked she had watched the Mother Confessor’s chest rise and fall out of the corner of her eye. But those small comforts pale in comparison to the feeling of Kahlan’s warm flesh beneath her hands and against her face. She breathes in the heady scent of the skin and squeezes her eyes shut.

“I’m sorry I almost died,” Kahlan whispers. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Cara snorts and pulls away, but she lets her hands linger on Kahlan’s waist. “You did not scare me. I am Mord-Sith. I knew I would save you.”

Instead of arguing, Kahlan smiles knowingly, her eyes shining with emotion. And instead of looking away, Cara feels her lips quirk up in response. And she wonders if this is what it feels like to be understood.


	6. Chapter 6

In the fading light, Kahlan sits down against a wide oak trunk and beckons for Cara to join her. Cara lowers herself to the cool grass, and she works hard to keep her mind off what it was like the last time she had Kahlan against a tree trunk. The way the Confessor arched into her hand. The way she cried out as she came, sweating and shaking. Cara caresses her Agiel to stop the shiver that runs up her spine at the memory.

“Shouldn’t we be finding a wisp?” Cara says, with more edge to her voice than she intended.

“We are.” Kahlan tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and Cara grips the Agiel tighter. “I told you, we don’t have to look for them. They’ll come to us when they’re ready.”

“How long does it usually take for them to be ready?”

Kahlan smiles. “As long as it takes. This is the night wisps’ home; we have to do it their way. Besides, they’ve never met you before. They have to decide if you’re trustworthy.”

Cara raises an eyebrow. “Then we should start gathering supplies for the winter.”

Kahlan laughs, a sound that makes Cara’s heart clench. “Cara Mason, did you just make a joke?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You did.”

Kahlan grins as she leans her head down to rest on Cara’s shoulder. When the dark hair brushes the leather covering her skin, Cara stiffens against the tree trunk. It’s hard enough to keep her wits while Kahlan is nearby. When the Confessor’s warm body is touching her own, it is impossible. Kahlan seems to sense her distress, because she lifts her head almost immediately.

A long, uncomfortable silence stretches into the gathering darkness. Cara can see Kahlan out of the corner of her eye, staring at her lap, and her insides twist. Again, her distance has caused the Confessor pain. And the cruelest irony is that what Cara really wants is to pull her closer.

“I’m... sorry,” Cara finally says. The words are clipped and sound strange coming from her lips, but she knows Kahlan deserves to hear them.

Kahlan frowns. “No, I’m sorry, Cara. I shouldn’t have--”

Before Kahlan can finish the thought, a bright light flashes between their faces. Cara springs to her feet, Agiels in hand, and the source of the the light stops a few feet from them. Kahlan gets up, too, but the Confessor doesn’t seem to share any of her alarm. On the contrary, Kahlan looks at the bouncing blue orb with something akin to affection.

Cara rolls her eyes. “ _This_ is a night wisp?”

“It is.” Kahlan watches the ball of light, and Cara watches Kahlan. The wisp emits a lilting sound partway between a buzz and a hum, and Cara suppresses the overwhelming desire to swat it.

“Cara, this is Jaz. Jaz, this is my friend Cara.”

The light buzzes again, bobbing in the air, and Kahlan smiles sadly.

“I thought so, but I’m not sure anymore,” Kahlan says in answer to the wisp.

Cara folds her arms in annoyance, but she refuses to ask what the wisp has said. If it can even talk in the first place, which it obviously can’t.

But Kahlan seems to see right through her, because she says, “The wisps speak in a magical language. If you listen carefully, you’ll understand.”

“Let’s just read the scroll,” Cara says, her voice tense.

The longer she stands in this forest, the more aware she becomes of the magic that surrounds them. It makes goosebumps rise on the back of her neck. She knows that part of Kahlan’s duty as the Mother Confessor is to protect and serve these creatures. But it doesn’t make her like them any better, and it doesn’t stop her from considering how she might capture a wisps’ magic, if it came to that.

The ball of light zooms close to her face, and it hums in a tone that sounds almost... exasperated? Cara feels unreasonably exposed, as if the wisp somehow knows what treachery she has been plotting. Its glow makes her skin tingle.

“Jaz wants us to follow her,” Kahlan says.

The wisp chirps in reply. Cara sighs and leans over to pick her pack up from the ground. She should have known this would be more complicated than a simple scroll reading. Jaz darts away before she straightens up, and Kahlan yanks on her arm.

“Come on!” Kahlan sets off through the woods behind the quickly disappearing wisp, pulling Cara alongside.

They dash after the wisp, through the brush and around trees, deeper and deeper into the forest. Jaz is always just visible through the foliage, a beacon in the heavy darkness but ever beyond their reach. As they run, Cara’s tingling skin seems to come alive with magic. It rushes into her lungs and hammers through her veins, and all of Cara’s training tells her to turn around and run, run, run the other way. To burn the Forest of the Night Wisps to the ground.

But from inside its ever-crumbling walls, Cara’s heart says otherwise. For the first time, the magic she senses around her does not feel like an ugly and gruesome thing. Not a demon to be conquered. Racing through these woods, listening to Kahlan’s laughter bounce off the trees -- it’s beautiful. Magic gave this to Cara, little though she deserves it, and it’s beautiful.

When Kahlan turns her head, panting, to smile at her, Cara finds herself smiling back. Kahlan stumbles, just slightly, because she was watching the Mord-Sith instead of the ground, and Cara grabs the Confessor’s elbow. Kahlan grins, Cara smirks. And then -- despite the heartache, despite everything -- they’re laughing. Laughing and running and chasing each other through the woods, until Cara can’t remember why they’re here or what they’re doing.

As leaves crunch beneath her feet and owls hoot from shadowed nests high above, Cara feels part of herself come undone. The iron shackles that have held her together, the forever pain that took a girl and gave back a monster, the madness that lurks in the deepest hole inside her mind -- it comes loose, and, for a moment, falls away. In this forest there is only Cara, and the woman beside her.

They dart between the trees, almost flying, until suddenly the trees end. Cara and Kahlan stop short in the middle of a grove, and for a fleeting instant, Cara realizes that the glowing wisp they followed is nowhere to be seen. And then all she sees is Kahlan. As she drinks in the Confessor’s face in the moonlight, she has never felt so wild, so untrained. So free.

“Cara,” Kahlan says.

There is so much in those two syllables, so much that has already been said and more, still, that has yet to be. Before the gnarled bits of her soul can rise up to stop her, Cara closes the distance between them and crushes her lips to Kahlan’s.

In that moment, in this place, there is no reason to stop. No duty, no Lord Rahl. It’s just Kahlan’s mouth beneath hers, and the scent of her skin, and her body pressing into Cara’s. The Mord-Sith allows herself to be dragged toward the ground, and she tumbles on top of Kahlan. She pulls back only to breathe, and Kahlan uses the pause to snake her hands between them and work at the laces that run along Cara’s sides.

Kahlan glances up into the green eyes above her, but Cara doesn’t tell her to stop. It takes her much longer to remove the leathers than it would take a Mord-Sith, and the wait intensifies Cara’s hunger. Twice Cara catches Kahlan’s mouth, and twice Kahlan pulls away so she can take greedy eyefuls of Cara’s body as it is revealed. Cara kicks her uniform from her feet, and she strips Kahlan of her dress. She leaves her Agiels and Kahlan’s daggers on the ground beside them.

And then they are skin to skin, at last, as Cara reclaims Kahlan’s lips. She holds her body over the Confessor’s, close enough to feel her lungs rise and fall, and she grinds her bare thigh between Kahlan’s legs. Kahlan arches into her, and Cara would have smirked if not for the leg that presses up against her own sex, drawing a sharp rush of air from her mouth.

They move together, Kahlan’s hair splayed out over the dry leaves, Cara’s hands on every bit of skin she can reach. The Confessor’s wetness is slick against her thigh, and Cara shifts so her sex is pressed directly between Kahlan’s spread legs. Kahlan gasps and her eyes widen, then flutter shut.

When Kahlan’s breath begins to come in short bursts and her chest flushes red with need, Cara knows she is close. Strong fingers dig into the muscles of Cara’s back, and it’s all she can do not to topple over the edge herself. One final thrust, and Kahlan lets go, shouts her release into the forest. Cara holds herself just over Kahlan’s trembling body as the Confessor’s magic erupts around them. Cara is barely out of reach of the power, and it makes her bones rattle and her ears ring until it dissipates and their bodies meet once more. The Mord-Sith follows quickly after, and she rests on her elbows while she pants.

As she gathers her senses, she becomes aware of Kahlan looking up at her, barely visible in the shadows. In the times before, when they reached this moment, Cara’s mind had raced. The Mord-Sith inside of her had howled in outrage: how dare she give in to feelings, forsake her training and her Lord Rahl. But now, as she stares down at the woman below her, at the way Kahlan’s lips curve into a satisfied smile, Cara has only one thought: _mine_.

Then Kahlan pushes Cara’s arms out from under her, until she drops her weight onto the body beneath her. And as Cara breathes in the soft smell of Kahlan’s neck, she has a second thought. _Yours_.

Finally, Cara shifts off of the woman beneath her. But instead of standing up and brushing herself off, as she knows she should, she pulls the Confessor against her side. They lie together, Kahlan’s head on Cara’s chest, until their hearts stop racing.

Kahlan draws tiny circles on Cara’s skin with her fingertips. Only after a long while does she break the silence.

“Cara?”

“Hmm.” Cara’s voice is low and quiet in the hush of the forest.

Her hand stills. “I remember what you said, last time,” Kahlan says.

Cara’s chest tightens painfully at the reminder. She flexes her jaw at the memory of what she told Kahlan in the rain outside the cave. That she serves the Lord Rahl. That she has been bound to a duty and a purpose that she cannot escape. It hurts to remember, mostly because it’s still all true. But it’s not the only truth, and she has to make Kahlan understand. Her voice is tight with distress when she speaks. “Kahlan, I didn’t mean--”

“No, it’s alright,” Kahlan interrupts softly. She pushes herself up so she can peer into Cara’s eyes. “I just want you to know that I understand. Your loyalty is one of the things that I respect most about you. I would not try to come between you and your duty.”

Cara looks away. “You’re wrong about me.”

“Cara--”

“I’m not loyal.” Cara sits up abruptly, and she feels the loss of Kahlan’s touch immediately. But it seems no more than she deserves. “I betrayed Darken Rahl, I betrayed my sisters. I betrayed Richard. I’m betraying him right now.”

“You never betray yourself.”

“That’s--”

“You always do what you think is right. You follow your heart.”

Cara scoffs. She doesn’t roll her eyes, but only because this is Kahlan. The idea that her actions could be _right_ , that she could be somehow involved in this nonsense about _following one’s heart_ \-- it’s preposterous. Cara is aware that she is changing, that she is more vulnerable to emotions than ever before. But she is still Mord-Sith.

And yet. When Kahlan reaches out to put a hand on her naked shoulder, that’s where she feels it. Right in her heart. The realization makes her palms sweat, and the fact that she remains still, that she does not seize an Agiel and kill the nearest living thing -- it’s testament to how much she has changed. To the notion that hearts, in general, might warrant further consideration.

“What is this place?” Cara says.

Kahlan’s brow crinkles. “It’s the Forest of the--”

“No.” Cara licks her lips and struggles to find the words. “Why is a forest making me have feelings?”

“That isn’t how it works. The forest doesn’t make people do anything.”

Cara frowns. It was all her, then? She was so sure that it must have been the magic that had set her free to push Kahlan into the leaves.

“The magic of the night wisps is subtle,” Kahlan continues. “It has little to do with feelings, and nothing to do with compulsion. The wisps are an ancient species, and their power is very different from our own. They don’t use magic, they _are_ magic.”

Perhaps that was what Cara had felt, running through the woods. It wasn’t a magic used against her, or even used at all. It was just there, vibrant and astonishing and everywhere. Or perhaps it had only been Kahlan herself, and the way the air crackled between them as they ran.

“The forest is special to the night wisps because the essence of the land has been altered by their presence over many, many centuries. Some of the changes are small. Like how flowers bloom at night, or how streams run in both directions.” Kahlan pauses and bites at her lower lip, like she might be nervous. “But the forest holds less distinct magic, too. From what I understand, it weakens falsehoods.”

Cara stiffens. “You mean it reveals lies,” she says. It sounds like a distasteful kind of magic.

“Not exactly. Though I think it would be difficult to tell a lie here -- it would be hard for the speaker to say it, and easy for the listener to recognize the truth. But the wisps view it as a matter of falsehoods. They see the world as true and false. I believe the magic reaches beyond spoken lies. Besides,” Kahlan gives a small, sad smile, “there are such things as true lies, and false truths, even to the wisps.”

Cara struggles to comprehend Kahlan’s words, and she isn’t even sure if she wants to. “Tell me a false truth,” she says, her voice rough.

“You belong to Lord Rahl.”

Cara’s breath catches. She did not expect Kahlan to cut to the quick of the matter so fast, so precisely. “Another,” she chokes out.

Kahlan doesn’t hesitate. “You’re broken,” she whispers.

“I am broken,” Cara says automatically.

“No.” The Confessor shakes her head. “You _were_ broken. It’s what happened to you.” Kahlan swallows, as though she is barely in control of her own voice. “It’s not who you are.”

Cara’s stomach turns with the ferocity of her desire to believe that Kahlan is right, and with the sickening fear that she isn’t. She blinks naked, terrified eyes at the woman beside her. Ever so slowly, Kahlan leans forward on her hands and kisses Cara on the mouth. She digs her hands into the Confessor’s sides and tries to remember to breathe. There is no tongue -- it’s not about that. It’s the kind of kiss that makes a lump rise in Cara’s throat.

When Kahlan pulls away, just slightly, Cara sees a hazy light come into view behind them. She turns to look into the forest, only to find that at least a dozen glowing orbs, just like Jaz, have appeared in the trees. They seem to dance, quiet and gentle, in the air all around the two women.

The low buzzing starts again, from one wisp and then another, until they all seem to be humming at once. This time, as she listens, the noise sounds less like bees and almost like... thoughts, of some kind. Cara looks from wisp to wisp, mesmerized.

One wisp hovers close by Cara’s face, and she recognizes the hum as Jaz’s voice. It isn’t exactly like words, but there is some sort of meaning there, just beyond her reach.

She cocks her head to the side as she studies the creature. “I’m guessing she is not telling me that she’s ready to read the scroll and send us on our way,” she says to Kahlan.

Kahlan chuckles softly. “No,” she agrees. “We have to go the rest of the way first. She’s scolding us for getting off track.”

Cara eyes the wisp, and wonders exactly how accidental their detour into the grove really was. Jaz had seemed to disappear at a suspiciously opportune moment. But she stands without comment and pulls Kahlan to her feet; desperate and mixed up as she feels, she has no desire to complain about what occurred here tonight.

“They like you,” Kahlan says.

Cara mumbles her disagreement, but Kahlan just smiles at her as they dress. Cara kneels down to slide Kahlan’s daggers back into their sheaths, and the Confessor’s hands are warm as they caress her shoulders.

This time, their journey through the forest is a slow, solemn affair. A strange silence has settled over the plants and animals, and to break it seems irreverent. Kahlan’s arm brushes Cara’s with each step, but they do not speak. Save for an occasional whispered hum that sounds to Cara curiously like _Almost there_ , even the night wisps that float around them have fallen mute.

When they reach their destination, Cara sees why. She and Kahlan step through a break in the trees, and into a world unlike any Cara has seen. On the surface, it is only a small area, barely larger than the grove they lay in less than an hour before. The tall fuchsia flowers are just like any flowers, the moss on the ground like any moss. But Cara knows: this is a sacred place.

In the center of the circle of flowers, a single night wisp hovers in the air. The other wisps go to it and Kahlan gasps.

“This is the night wisp birthing ground,” Kahlan whispers. She turns to Cara, her face lit up with awe. “I’ve never been taken here before.”

“Never been ready before, Confessor Kahlan,” a tiny voice says. Cara realizes that the words are coming from Jaz, who has stayed by their side instead of joining the other wisps. She stares at the creature for a moment, stunned. “Not difficult,” it says to Cara, “just listening.”

Cara feels tiny tendrils of pride stir deep inside herself. Perhaps Jaz intended her comment as a barb, but it has the opposite effect on Cara. Because she has been listening. Without knowing it, without planning to, she has let magic into her soul. She hasn’t captured it or conquered it. She has opened her arms to the intrusion, felt its size and shape, and beckoned it close instead of pushing it away. She has made herself someone who belongs here, in this place, on this night, with the Mother Confessor.

Cara opens her mouth to speak, but finds that her throat is hot and dry. She turns her attention back to the cloud of wisps above the flowers, and Kahlan slips her fingers into Cara’s trembling hand. As the night wisps sway and twirl, their light growing brighter by the minute, Cara grips Kahlan with everything she has.

And then, the wisp in the center of the circle shudders. Her light flickers and seems to extinguish completely, and Cara’s eyes widen. She leans forward in unbidden concern for the small creature. Until all of a sudden, light bursts forth from the wisp, so bright Cara has to blink. As her eyes adjust, the wave of light seems to come apart, until Cara realizes that it is not one wisp, but hundreds of little wisps, thousands, swirling into the air above.

She looks at Kahlan, and she sees her own feelings reflected in the Confessor’s face. Tear roll down Kahlan’s cheeks, but her smile is broad and awestruck. The sound that passes her lips is both a laugh and a sob. Cara’s eyes flick between the the woman at her side and the magic that unfolds before her. It’s hard to say which is more stunning, and for the second time today -- the second time in _years_ \-- Cara feels a sting behind her eyes. Her heart thunders, thrashes wildly against the old barriers that try and fail to contain it.

“Kahlan, I--” she chokes. There is so much she has to say. So much.

Kahlan grips Cara’s hand tighter than ever before. “I know,” she says, her voice thick. “I know.”

Kahlan’s eyes shine in the glow of the wisps, and she steps forward to embrace Cara. Cara grasps the Confessor so fiercely that she is sure they will fall into one another. Kahlan’s hand tangles in her hair, as if all they need is to hang on tight enough.

Maybe it is.


End file.
